


That Good Faith, To Which an Enemy as Well as a Friend Is Entitled

by Luzula



Series: That Good Faith [2]
Category: Flight of the Heron - D. K. Broster
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, Courtroom Drama, Duelling, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Time, Honor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzula/pseuds/Luzula
Summary: Major Keith Windham, after aiding his escaped enemy, discovers the cost to himself, and must decide how far he is willing to go in order to help him.
Relationships: Ewen Cameron/Keith Windham
Series: That Good Faith [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1703125
Comments: 41
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You need to read the first story in the series first, because this story follows directly on from it--they should really have been posted as one story. 
> 
> I am very grateful to my three beta-readers: Hyarrowen, Regshoe and Garonne! ♥ They have given me so much feedback and helped me fix everything from modernisms in word choice, to embarrassing plot holes. 
> 
> I wrote this in three months of feverish writing after falling in love with the book--it felt more like something that was writing itself through me than something I wrote, and it's by far the longest thing I've written. I'm so proud of it! Research notes at the end.

Keith at last turned his gaze from the hillside where he could no longer see Ewen Cameron ride away, mounted on Keith's own horse. He could not regret his actions, but he must dwell on them no more. He had a message to deliver—at least he would not fail in that. 

Having accepted Keith's offer to be plundered, Ewen had taken the food that was left, since Keith had only a few miles to reach the soldiers' camp. But he had left most of Keith's effects, which Keith tied up in the blanket and slung over his shoulder. 

The walk along the northern side of Loch Arkaig to the camp was easy enough, and the weather as fine as anyone could ask. But Keith could not muster any enthusiasm for his errand. The camp was empty when he arrived, save for a few watchmen, and he waited with an ill grace until the main force returned from their day's search. His mood plunged still further when he saw that the officer in command of the detachment of soldiers was none other than Captain Greening. The last Keith had seen him, he had been dismissed from the responsibility for the prisoners, because he had coerced information from Ewen Cameron by means of sleep deprivation. Keith was hardly ready to forgive him for that. 

'I come with orders from Lord Albemarle for you, Captain Greening,' said Keith, his tone civil only by means of some effort. 

'On foot, sir?' said Captain Greening, raising his eyebrows. 'And with your effects in a blanket?' 

His smile was soft and, in Keith's eyes, slightly malicious, but perhaps that was only his dislike of the man colouring his perceptions. 

'I was waylaid,' said Keith shortly. 

'Oh? How did this happen? Surely we should chase these bandits.' 

Keith found his tone impertinent in the extreme. 'I do not answer to you, Captain,' he snapped. 'And it's too late for that.'

'Of course, sir.' 

'Lord Albemarle has heard reports that the Pretender might be holed up in a cave over the north-western part of the lake. Have you searched in that area?' 

'We have been over these hills pretty well already, sir, and were planning to return tomorrow. But it has been some days since we searched that area.' 

'Then I think it best that we search there again, Captain. I'll join you tomorrow, and return with you afterwards.' 

'Yes, sir. I think we have a spare horse to lend you for the return,' said Captain Greening. 

Keith made himself say, 'I would be grateful, Captain,' and then took himself out of Captain Greening's sight. 

For the next day's search, he and the captain divided their forces, and the men clambered over the steep hillsides in search of caves and hidden crannies. Keith was glad not to see the man's face for the duration of the day. 

They found nothing. Which did not surprise Keith—with all this inaccessible ground, and no proper maps either, surely the Jacobites could have hidden a dozen Pretenders within a radius of ten miles. His only consolation was that this would also make it easier for Ewen to evade capture, if indeed anyone was looking for him. Perhaps he was not regarded as an important enough prisoner—Keith could hope so, at least. 

That night, as he lay in a tent with the rain dripping steadily down on the canvas, Keith wondered whether his friend had a roof above his head tonight. Surely he would have found some shieling to sleep in at least, even if the house of Ardroy was no more. 

The drizzle continued for the next day's march back along the Great Glen to Fort Augustus, and Keith rode his borrowed horse at the back of the column, while Captain Greening kept to the front. Keith fruitlessly wished that it had not been Captain Greening who had seen him come so ignominiously into camp with no horse. The loss of his horse was, strictly speaking, his own problem, since as an officer he financed his own gear. But to be waylaid and robbed hardly spoke well of his competence, and with his previous disgrace he could not afford further to offend his superiors. Furthermore, he wished to avoid questions about who exactly had robbed him. 

Keith's worries proved well founded when he was called before Lord Albemarle later that evening, with Captain Greening present as well. But he still did not suspect the full extent of the trouble he was in. 

Lord Albemarle regarded him in silence for a long moment. Keith stood at attention and waited, his unease caused more by Captain Greening's faintly gloating expression than Lord Albemarle's deliberation. 

'Major Windham,' Lord Albemarle finally said. 'Captain Greening tells me that you have aided in the flight of the prisoner Cameron of Ardroy, and that he rode away on your horse. He says that he saw it with his own eyes. Is this true?'

Keith blanched. He turned to look at Captain Greening, who in the expression on Keith's face had all the revenge he could have wished for. 

Keith's mind raced. To admit to it would be to incriminate himself; to say that Ewen had robbed him would give them evidence against him. 

He had waited too long. 'You have nothing to say, I see,' said Lord Albemarle with a frown, perhaps questioning his earlier decision to give Keith another chance. 'Well, you will have your chance to defend yourself at the court-martial. You leave me with no choice but to imprison you in the meantime. See to it, if you will,' this to Captain Greening. 

'Your sword, if you please,' said Captain Greening. By gad, if he had smiled, Keith believed he would have knocked him to the ground, for all it would hardly have bettered his situation. He did not, however, and Keith gritted his teeth and handed over his sword. 

This was not the first time he had walked through the camp at Fort Augustus a prisoner, and it did not improve on a second experience. Captain Greening left him in the care of Sergeant Mullins again, who looked at him sorrowfully. 

'Are you in trouble again, sir? Well, and I hope you'll have your name cleared. Meanwhile I'll see that you have what you need.' 

'Thank you, Sergeant,' said Keith, glad to see at least one friendly face. But after Sergeant Mullins had supplied his wants, he was left in the small bare room with only himself for company. 

How on earth had that despicable Captain Greening…? But even while he asked the question, Keith realised that it was not at all impossible that they should have been observed, given his own inattention. His face flushing with shame, he remembered how he had sat there so long watching Ewen ride away, with no thought of his usual wary soldier's instincts. And the fire they had lit the evening before—it might of course have been observed from the camp, and investigated. 

This did not lessen his fury against Captain Greening, whom he was sure was motivated by revenge, not patriotic duty. But he had to admit his own folly. 

And what, then, of Ewen Cameron? He was, after all, the cause of Keith's probable downfall. Yet Keith, being honest with himself, could not blame him for that. For there had been every chance for Keith to take him prisoner—he had been unarmed, wounded, and exhausted, and could hardly have offered much resistance. But Keith had not done so. Moreover, it was not Ewen who had taken his horse—well, he had, but not before Keith had prompted him, and several times, too. 

Keith lay on the narrow camp bed, and could not stop his thoughts from turning in sleepless unprofitable circles. 

Did he regret his actions, then? He did not know. But Keith suspected that he had been incapable of acting in any other way, which perhaps made the question moot. Without the horse, it was very possible that Ewen would not have been able to reach the place he needed to go, wherever it might be. It had conceivably saved his life. 

And it was that thought which brought Keith at least a shred of comfort in his miserable situation: that somewhere in the wild hills, Ewen was lying safe and sound. Keith imagined him wrapped in his plaid, his chest rising and falling slowly, sleeping in peace even though Keith could not. 

***

Keith had spent a wretched night, and although Sergeant Mullins came to give him the necessities the next day, he could give him no news of his trial. But Keith brought himself under control, though his mood was still low. He paced his small cell for exercise, and thought of what he could possibly say at his trial, and when it would be. A general court-martial required thirteen commissioned officers, and perhaps he would be left here to cool his heels for weeks until the requisite number could be brought together. 

The prospect did not appeal to him. Keith would rather the most interminable slog through mud and rain than shut up in a cell like this for an uncertain duration. He was of course inured to delay and waiting as an inevitable and common part of army life, but now that his military character and honour was on the line he would rather have it over with as quickly as possible. But as he had no control over the date of his trial, he schooled his thoughts in expectation of a long imprisonment. As for the likely outcome, he tried not to dwell on it yet. Keith thought of asking for pen and paper, to write to his family; but shame kept him from it, and he put it off. Perhaps he would soon have more certain news to give. 

As it turned out, he need not wait long—two days after that, early in the morning, the door opened and he was escorted through the fort to a room which contained an illustrious gathering of officers. The Duke of Cumberland, apparently, was on his way through, and with his complement of staff officers would make up the court-martial together with Lord Albemarle and his subordinates. On the table before them lay Keith's bared sword turned sideways, awaiting the sentence. 

Keith recalled the harsh judgement on that officer at Inverness who had been broken for showing kindness to prisoners, and his heart fell. However, he let no trace of it show, and took his appointed place. 

He looked round at his judges. Lord Albemarle had earlier shown himself favourably inclined, but he could not count on that to have lasted. Cumberland...well. Keith could hardly hope for any leniency there, after his refusal to testify against Ewen. At least Lord Loudoun was not here; that was one mercy. Of the others, he had served with some, and knew others only by name. Keith only half listened to the preliminaries, in which the panel was sworn in by the judge advocate. 

'Let us begin by hearing the testimony of Captain Greening,' said Cumberland. 

Captain Greening's account of the matter was, in all essentials, correct. He had seen the fire from his camp and sent a scout to investigate. The following morning, he had gone himself with an ensign, and through his field glasses from a distance seen Major Windham sharing a meal with a Highlander, whom he identified as Ewen Cameron of Ardroy who had lately been his prisoner. After the meal, Cameron of Ardroy had turned a pistol on Major Windham, taken his horse and ridden away—without, however, any visible protest from the major. Captain Greening himself had not been mounted at the time, and judged the escaped prisoner too far away for pursuit, on horseback as he was. 

Keith listened, saying nothing, not that it would have been his place to do so. There would be time enough for him to defend himself later. 

'From this account,' commented Cumberland, 'we must conclude that Major Windham is must be spectacularly incompetent, or possibly a coward. That, or that he aided the prisoner's escape and provided him with a horse.'

'Order!' said the judge advocate to Cumberland. 'Please proceed with the evidence.' 

So the evidence against him was not enough for Cumberland, Keith thought bitterly—he must go poisoning the minds of the other officers against him. For when the officers later reached their verdict, they gave their opinion in reverse order of seniority, so that the junior officers would not be unduly influenced by their seniors. 

Cumberland continued, 'We have a deposition from Lord Loudoun about the defendant's earlier actions at Fort Augustus.' The deposition was duly read, describing the disciplinary action against Keith on account of his intercession for the imprisoned Ardroy.

Finally, Cumberland testified to Keith's refusal to stand witness against Ardroy. 

'Now, Major Windham. What defence can you offer?' said Cumberland. 

Keith gathered his thoughts. He did not know if anything he might say could sway his judges, but slim as it might be, this was the only chance he had. And the speech he had composed during his deliberation in the cell would certainly serve him better than the hot words he had spoken in his previous encounter with Cumberland. 

'Your Royal Highness. My Lord,' then nodding at the other officers, 'I wish to say first of all that I have not now, nor ever had, any sympathy for the rebels' cause. I am loyal to King George and I have ever been proud to hold his commission and to risk my life in his service.' 

He went on, 'If you could but ask Cameron of Ardroy, he would tell you himself that I never sympathised with his cause or aided it. My actions at Achnacarry—for I do not deny them—stem from my personal obligation to this man and my regard for him as a friend. He captured me last year and treated me most honourably, and moreover, I chanced to meet him again at Edinburgh. At that time it was in his power to take me prisoner; however, he let me go.

'I admit I did not act well in the matter Lord Loudoun describes, but that matter was afterwards dropped and not deemed important enough for a trial. And I may add that though my actions were ill-considered, my concerns were indeed justified: as you know, Ardroy was mistreated while a prisoner in this very fort.' Here Keith looked meaningfully at Captain Greening, to remind his audience who was responsible for that mistreatment, and the ill feelings that man might harbour towards Keith. 

'I did not aid in Ardroy's escape, but met him by chance at Achnacarry, and yes, I shared my food with him, since he had none. And in the end, I allowed him to leave, as he once did with me. He took my horse, since he was wounded. The horse, and the expense, is mine. His house is burned to the ground, his cause is defeated, and he is hardly in a fit state to fight—I do not think he is a threat to anyone.'

'I ask that you consider my past record, and by my continued service let me prove my loyalty to the King.' 

Keith fell silent. For a brief moment he felt at peace, having done the best he could. 

'Thank you, Major Windham,' said Cumberland. 

And Keith was led out so that the officers could reach their verdict. Keith, under guard, was hard put not to let the fraying thread of his patience show as the time stretched out. At least Captain Greening had been dismissed and was not here to gloat over him. 

At long last, the door opened and Keith was admitted. The expression on Cumberland's face gave him no hope, and this expectation was borne out when he began to speak. 

'You are, Major Windham, in the army. In the army, you do not choose which enemy to kill and which to coddle. You follow orders. Moreover, your action in aiding this escaped prisoner, whom it was your duty to capture and bring back, is not an isolated incident. Twice before you have allowed your judgement to be misled by this Cameron of Ardroy, who is, I remind you, a contemptible rebel and not one to whom you owe any tender-hearted consideration.'

Even in his apprehension, Keith could not tamp down his anger at this description. As if Ewen Cameron were not a gentleman! He was twice the man Cumberland was. 

Cumberland must have seen something of this in Keith's expression, struggle as he might to hide it. His eyes narrowed. 'From Lord Loudoun we have heard how you turned back from your despatch duty and attempted to intercede with him on behalf of this same man. And I myself heard you say that you would not bear witness against this rebel, which is surely the duty of every patriotic man.' 

Cumberland leaned down to turn Keith's bared sword, so that the tip pointed towards his heart. 'In short, Major Windham, we find that contrary to the Articles of War, you have failed in your duty and materially aided the enemy. You are unworthy of your position and we strip you of your commission.' 

He strode up to Keith, drawing a knife and unceremoniously cutting the epaulette from the shoulder of his uniform coat. It was all Keith could do not to flinch, but he must not, _must not_ give Cumberland the satisfaction. 

'Give me your papers, please,' said Cumberland. 

Keith did so, taking them from the inner pocket where he always kept them. His mind was in turmoil, and he seized on anger as the emotion most likely to sustain him through this moment. The magnitude of the change in his circumstances had not yet fully sunk in. He could hardly speak, which was perhaps just as well, since nothing he could say was likely to improve his situation, and might make it worse. 

'By the way,' asked Cumberland, 'Do you know Cameron of Ardroy's current whereabouts?' 

Keith managed to find his voice, and keep it steady. 'I have no notion of it. As you are no doubt aware, Ardroy was burned to the ground, and he must be far from there now.' 

The officers departed, and Keith was left to gather his belongings, with the humiliation of an armed escort that only fed his anger. At least they had not seen fit to subject him to the full ceremony: his sword broken and his epaulette cut off in front of the gathered troops. But he supposed he was not important enough for that. 

A man at the door, and Keith looked up: Sergeant Mullins, limping up to him. 

'I'm sorry, sir,' said he, comprehending the situation in one glance. 'But, I forgot to tell you: there was a horse arrived for you yesterday evening, with saddlebags. It's in the stable.'

Keith opened his mouth, then closed it. 'Did you see the man who brought it?'

'No, I expect he left again.' 

'Thank you, Sergeant Mullins, for telling me.' Keith turned away to hide his emotion. Such was his state of mind that he had not even considered how he would travel. And now Ewen had sent Lively back—which he had of course promised to do, and Keith would not have doubted him, if he'd had the presence of mind to consider it. 

Having gathered his belongings, Keith strode through the fort and out into the camp. All round him were the sights, sounds, smells of a home, mobile as it was, that he had inhabited for twelve years: the British Army. The madder red of the soldiers' coats, faded as they often were, and the sleeves sagging at the elbows; the distant orders and marching feet of drill on the parade ground, which commands he had painstakingly memorised as a young ensign and which he now could have given in his sleep; the smell of sweat, black powder, and cooking. 

None of it was for him anymore. His face set in stone, Keith went to the stables, where he found Lively. He saddled her, stowed his gear, mounted, and rode out of Fort Augustus without looking to either side. 

The day was changeable, with clouds scudding overhead under a northerly wind and the land now in sun, now in shade, but Keith hardly noticed the world around him. He rode south, letting his horse set her own pace along the road that ran, almost straight as a ruler, along the Great Glen, disappearing into the hazy distance. 

Keith had not purchased his majority, but had been promoted to it when the natural attrition of war left the position open to the next in seniority, so the financial blow of losing his commission was not as great as it could have been. It was still a substantial loss to his personal fortune, which was not large. 

Yet it was as nothing to him compared to the loss of his career and the life which had been his since before he had come of age, and which he, without reflection, had expected would continue indefinitely. And now, it was all gone. As he rode, Keith felt himself strangely numb and unmoored, and episodes of his life passed through his mind's eye: the incredible din and pressure at Fontenoy, and his regiment's steadiness in the face of it; his satisfaction and pride on first obtaining his captaincy; visiting his young half-brother and how he had listened, wide-eyed, to Keith's stories of army life; his first dismal impressions of the Highlands, and how Ewen Cameron had put his low expectations to shame. 

Ewen. Keith surfaced from his recollections, seeing that he had passed Loch Oich and was riding along the low marshy tongue of land at Laggan that separated the two lochs. He raised his eyes to the notch in the hills beyond which lay Ardroy. Lively halted, and Keith realised that he must have pulled on the reins without conscious decision. 

Ardroy had been put to the torch, and Ewen would not be there. Keith would gain nothing by going, and lose hours of daylight scrambling up the rough slope. And yet, he found himself turning off the road and carefully picking his way across the tufted marshes. 

The attachment he had formed was too strong for him to contemplate leaving Scotland without one last farewell, even if Ewen might never know he had been there. For leaving Scotland he was: Keith was going back to his family, though he did not look forward to returning to them in his present circumstances. 

The weather was taking a turn for the worse, and the first drops of rain fell, carried by that same northerly wind. But Keith was not deterred, though he stopped to put his cloak on. He had ridden here once before, on Ewen's horse—but Keith's mare was not used to the trail, and he wondered if he could trust her footing on this rough ground. So when the slope grew steeper and more rocky, he dismounted and, keeping on the horse's left side to shield himself from the increasingly horizontal rain carried by the gusts of wind, he steadily climbed. 

In truth he relished the exercise—the steep slope was something which he could set himself against and conquer, which was not the case with much else in his life lately. He gained the first crest, beyond which he knew lay a high valley surrounded by higher peaks. But in the dirty weather he could not see the peaks, and not much of the valley either. 

Keith mounted again, and with his head down against the wind, he put his mind to following the trail. He did not realise how far he had come until he looked up to see the dull pewter surface of Loch na h-Iolaire whipped by the wind, so different from the pleasant aspect it had presented on his last visit. He turned his head towards where the house would have stood, and stared in amazement. 

Keith pulled up his horse. The house was not, after all, burned to the ground—he could see traces of fire on its walls, but as a whole it was unharmed. Keith found himself smiling: he was truly glad that Ewen's house should have been spared such retribution. 

And was anyone then living in the house? Well, there was only one way to find out: Keith covered the last distance, dismounted, secured Lively and knocked on the door. 

A pause, so long that he thought the house might be empty, after all. Then the door cautiously opened. 

'Miss Cameron?' said Keith, taking off his hat, sodden though it was. 'We were introduced last summer; my name is Keith Windham, if you recall.' 

'Yes, Major Windham, I remember.' Miss Cameron looked wary, and Keith did not blame her. 

'I do not bear that title any more—I'm no longer with the Army. I came here to enquire after Ewen Cameron.' As he said it, he realised the futility of the question, but could not stop himself from asking it. 

'You will forgive me—' she hesitated before continuing, '—Mr Windham, if I give you no information about him, assuming I had any such information. I am sure you understand.' Miss Cameron's gaze was implacable. 

Being addressed with a plain 'Mr Windham' for the first time in many years was more painful than Keith could well have anticipated. But he could hardly blame her for that. 

Keith bowed his head. 'I can only say that he is my friend and that I wish him nothing but good. But I understand entirely if you don't trust me.' 

He wished he had a letter that she could pass on to Ewen, but he could hardly write one here in the driving rain, and she would clearly not be inviting him in. 'If you should meet him, would you tell him that if he wishes to write to me, he may do so at Stowe House?' 

'I will,' said Miss Cameron. 'Good evening, Mr Windham.' 

'Good evening, Miss Cameron.' 

Keith bowed, then turned into the face of the wind and prepared to leave. He would no doubt spend a miserable night—perhaps he could find some abandoned croft in which to shelter. But at least he knew that Ewen's house still stood, and that Ewen had in all likelihood reached safety, even if he was no longer here. 

He mounted and rode off. And then, faint against the wind, he heard a cry behind him: 'Keith! Come back!' 

Joy bloomed in Keith's heart, and he turned in the saddle to see Ewen framed in an open window on the first storey of the house, his head bared to the wind and rain. Keith turned his horse, rode back, dismounted, went all in a rush to the door, and met Ewen there. 

'Ewen!' said Keith. They had gripped each other's hands, hard enough to whiten knuckles.

'Come in, Keith,' said Ewen, then turned to Miss Cameron, who was watching the proceedings with lips pressed together, clearly worried. 'Aunt Marget, we can trust him.' 

Keith realised that the red of his coat, visible through his now open cloak, was not calculated to reassure her. He should in any case have changed out of it, since he had no right to wear it anymore. 

Keith turned to her. 'Miss Cameron, I assure you that I will not betray him.'

He would have continued, but Ewen broke in, 'He has saved my life twice! And that was his horse I rode here on—I might not have got here otherwise.' 

Miss Cameron relented. 'I'm sorry to have doubted you. I know you have helped Ewen before, but—he is a fugitive, and we cannot be too careful. But come in, you are dripping wet.' 

'Thank you,' said Keith, 'but I must stable my horse first.' 

'Oh, I'm glad the horse reached you,' said Ewen. 'I could not go myself, of course, but I sent young Angus MacMartin.' 

'Thank you.'

Ewen waved this away. 'Shall I come with you to the stable?' he asked, then gave in and asked the question that Keith imagined had been in his mind since he first saw Keith through that window. 'And Keith—what are you doing here?' 

Keith bowed his head grimly. 'I'll tell you. But first, my horse. I remember where the stable is—no need for you to get wet, as well.' 

He ventured out into the rain again and led the long-suffering Lively to the stable to feed and water her. While he rubbed her down in the dimness and relative warmth of the stable, Keith considered how to convey his news. 

Ewen was waiting for him when he got inside. Having decided to get it over with quickly, Keith said, to Ewen's questioning look, 'I've been cashiered. The court-martial was this morning.' 

He took off his cloak, uncovering the lack of epaulette on his shoulder. 

'What?' said Ewen, looking stricken. 'You—Keith, I am so very sorry!' 

Keith busied himself with hanging up his wet cloak to dry and taking off his sword belt, and Ewen continued, 'You must tell me—is this on my account? How I wish I had not taken your horse!' 

Ewen had stepped closer, and had one hand on his shoulder, and Keith looked into his eyes. He must tell Ewen the truth. 

'Yes,' he admitted quietly. 'It is on your account. But the responsibility is mine. We both know that I could have captured you at Achnacarry, had I wanted to. You were unarmed and wounded. I am grateful that you spared my pride, but you did not take my horse against my will, as you well know.'

Keith thought there were tears in Ewen's eyes, though he did not shed them. 'I have only wished you well, and I swore that I would help you if I could. And yet I bring you nothing but sorrow.'

 _No,_ thought Keith. _That is not true—you bring me sorrow and joy both._ But he did not say it. 

He turned away. 'I must get out of this coat. It is wet, and besides, I have no right to wear it any longer.' 

Miss Cameron had drawn back at their display of emotion. But now she said, 'I'm sorry for your loss, Mr Windham, and grateful for your assistance to Ewen. But I must ask: how did you know that the house still stood?'

Ewen looked surprised—evidently he had not thought of that. 

'I'm glad you are so vigilant in his defence,' said Keith, quite honestly. 'But I had no knowledge of it. I was on my way home to my family, and wanted—well, I wanted somehow to say farewell, though I thought that neither the house nor Ewen would be here.' 

'I'm glad you came,' said Ewen quietly. 

'So am I,' Keith admitted. 'I said at my court-martial that I had no notion of where you were now, but that you must certainly be long gone from the ruins of your house.'

'Good. But Ewen, we must not let Mr Windham stand there in his wet clothes,' said Miss Cameron. 'Go up to the guest room—you remember where it is?—and you can change into something dry. Meanwhile, are you hungry?'

'Thank you, madam. And I would be grateful for something to eat.' 

Ewen looked rueful. 'My sorrow! It seems I need my aunt in order to remember the most basic hospitality. Keith, I hope you'll let me know if I may lend you anything to wear.'

'I have spare clothes in my saddlebags; I hope they are dry,' said Keith. 

The guest room was as Keith had remembered it: tidy and with the bed neatly made up. Keith stripped off his uniform coat and hung it on a chair to dry. The waistcoat and shirt underneath were dry enough, but he changed into his other breeches and stockings. His other coat, however, had lain where the rainwater could seep into it, and he hung that too up to dry. 

He descended the stairs again. 'Miss Cameron, I apologise for the informality. My other coat was also wet.'

'Please don't trouble yourself about it,' she said. Their elderly servant had set out bread and cheese. 'There will soon be hot soup, as well.' 

'Are you cold?' asked Ewen, holding out his plaid. Keith was not particularly cold, but he thanked Ewen and wrapped the plaid about his shoulders, cursing himself for a fool—giving in to sentimentality would only make it worse! 

He had not realised how hungry he was until he sat down to the meal, and the hot soup warmed him through and through. 

'Thank you,' he said to Miss Cameron. 'Now I feel quite human again.' 

Night had fallen now, though Keith could still hear the wind round the corners of the house. 

'It is late, and I'll retire,' said Miss Cameron. 'Don't stay up too late, Ewen.'

Ewen looked mortified. 'Aunt Marget. I'm not a boy of thirteen any longer.' 

She smiled at him, then retired to her room, and Keith, having observed this exchange with some amusement, said to Ewen, 'Well, I'm glad someone is keeping an eye on your bed-time.' 

'Oh—she thinks I should hide in the garret all day and never go out of doors,' said Ewen with some frustration. 

'Perhaps she has a point,' said Keith. 'You are a fugitive, after all. But three days in prison was quite enough for me—I cannot imagine what it was like for two months.'

'No,' Ewen said softly. 'Then you understand why I cannot stand to be cooped up. But you must be tired after the day you had: perhaps we had best go to bed.' 

Ewen's bedroom was adjacent to Keith's, and they went up the stairs together, or limped, in Ewen's case. The candle he carried shone with a soft light, and he went into the guest room to light the one on Keith's bedside table. 

'Sleep well, Keith,' and Keith heard the echo of what he had said on that hillside at Achnacarry. But Keith was not a redcoat any longer.

'Sleep well,' he replied, and reluctantly took the plaid from his shoulders, holding it out to Ewen. 

'Oh—keep it if you like. I owe you far more than a plaid, and I have another one. I daresay Lochiel would not begrudge you wearing the Cameron tartan, if he knew what you had done.' 

'I didn't do it for your clan, and far less for your cause,' said Keith, somewhat appalled. He hesitated, but could not make himself refuse the gift. 'Thank you. I will keep it, then.' 

But Ewen's face had darkened, as if something haunted him. 

'What is it?' asked Keith, concerned. 

Ewen looked at first as if he would evade the question, but then sighed and replied: 'It was the mention of Lochiel. I wish very much that I could speak with him. If he hears some story of what I did at Fort Augustus—oh, I could not bear that he should know that I betrayed him!' 

'But you didn't!' exclaimed Keith. 'Not in practice, for they still don't know where he is, and not in intent, either.'

'That is kind of you to say. But…' Ewen shook his head. 

And Keith could see that nothing he could say was likely to assuage Ewen's feelings of guilt. 'It lies between you and him, I can see that. Well, I hope that he is safe, and I cannot imagine that he would blame you for what happened.' 

Ewen bowed his head. 'Thank you, Keith.' 

On that note, they parted and went to their separate bedchambers. 

Keith, getting into his bed, wondered what the officers of his court-martial would think, had they known that he was at that moment housed and comforted by the enemy. Doubtless their opinion of him would sink even lower—they might think him a traitor, or a covert Jacobite. Well, he was not, and Cumberland could go to the devil, for all Keith was concerned. 

Keith blew out the candle. The room was plunged in darkness, and he lay there, thinking of Ewen in bed in the next room. Keith had the self-control not to sleep with Ewen's plaid like some love-lorn girl, even if he had not managed to refuse the gift. But the very fact that he wanted to spoke volumes about his state of mind. He wondered at Alison Grant, who had refused this man and gone back to France, for so Ewen had told him at Fort Augustus. 

Perhaps he should not have come here, after all—the inevitable parting would only pain him all the more. But that was his mind speaking, not his heart, and he could not bring himself to regret it.


	2. Chapter 2

Keith woke, feeling much refreshed by a full night's sleep. When he had dressed, shaved, and gone downstairs, he found Ewen already up and at the breakfast table, though Miss Cameron was not present. Keith joined him. 

'I have already broken my fast, but I'll take a second portion,' said Ewen. 'I have starved too much this summer not to eat when I can.' 

Keith much approved of this, for he was thinner than he should be. 

'Did you sleep well?' asked Ewen. 

'I did, thank you. Much improved over the prison at Fort Augustus.'

Ewen laughed. 'That is no great achievement. But I take your meaning.' 

Then he sobered. 'Keith. I quite forgot to ask you yesterday—who carried the tale of what happened between us at Achnacarry? ' 

'It was Captain Greening,' replied Keith. 'I trust you remember him?'

Ewen flushed in anger. 'How could I forget? And he was the author of your misery as well as mine?' 

'What he did to me was revenge, I think—I caused him to lose his position after his shameful treatment of you. He was not demoted from his rank, but he was not trusted to be in charge of the prisoners any more.'

'And yet they trusted his testimony against you?' Ewen's eyes were flinty. 

'His ensign saw us as well. But I must say that I also blame myself,' said Keith. 'If I had not lit that fire, they would not have sent anyone to investigate.' 

'Yes. I suppose we should have been more careful. But still. If I could see him on a battlefield, or on a duelling-ground…' Ewen's voice was soft, but promised violence. 

'You would have to stand in line, for the latter.' 

They finished their meal, and Ewen stood up, bracing his hands on the armrests of the chair to do so. 

'How is your leg? asked Keith. 

'Better,' replied Ewen, which Keith did not think a very informative answer. 'Though I confess I would like to consult Archie about it. But he is, I hope, far from here.' 

'I hope he is safe,' said Keith politely, for Ewen's sake. 

'Now,' said Ewen, 'I would like to go to Old Angus and consult him about the prophecy. Will you come with me?' 

'If it will set your mind at ease.' 

'I know you don't believe in it. And on one level, neither do I—I was educated in the heart of France, no matter that you probably consider me a Highland savage.'

'I know I have said so, in jest,' said Keith seriously. 'But I hope you know that I didn't truly mean it.' 

'Well. I did grow up here, and I cannot dismiss it entirely, especially as so much of it has come to pass.' Ewen looked troubled. 

'What were the words of it, again?' asked Keith. For he had of course thought it nonsense on the first hearing, and did not remember much of it. 

'He said that he saw us meeting five times, and that the first and the last time would be by water. Our destinies would be bound up in some unknown manner. You would do me a great service, and yet cause me a bitter grief. And—' Ewen closed his eyes and concentrated, 'as the threads are twisted at your first meeting, so will they shape themselves at all the others: a thread of one colour, a thread of another.' 

'Well then, let us count,' said Keith, entering into the spirit of the thing, even if only as a hypothetical. 'We met when you first captured me at Loch Oich, which was by the water. We then met at Edinburgh, when you were captured by Guthrie, in the prison afterwards, and then again in the prison the day before you escaped.' Keith had now counted off all five of the fingers on his left hand. 'That is five. And then again at Loch Arkaig, so that is a sixth time. And now, of course, which is seven.' 

'But the fifth time, in the prison, was not by the water.' Ewen frowned. 'Perhaps it counts the two meetings in the prison as one? That way the Loch Arkaig meeting can count as the fifth one, for it was by the water.' 

'Even if we allow for that, we have now met a sixth time here at Ardroy. But let us apply logic: did he say that we would _only_ meet five times?' 

'No, I suppose he did not,' said Ewen slowly. 'He also said that much was dark, and he could not see it.' 

'There you are, then: I see nothing to prevent any number of future meetings. And I did do you a service that caused you bitter grief,' Keith continued. 'When I saved your life by persuading Major Guthrie to capture you, and you believed that I had betrayed you.' 

Ewen's face cleared. 'What would I do without you, Keith?' 

'Brood over prophecies uselessly, it seems,' said Keith promptly. 

'And yet, I have caused you bitter sorrow as well. I wonder if that is what the prophecy meant about the twisted threads. Keith, it is so strange to see you out of uniform, and strange that I should regret the loss of the very thing that marked you as my enemy. Your commission—I swore to help you if I could. I know that I'm not in any great position to do so, but if there is anything, anything at all, that I can do to aid you, you have only to say. I hope you know that. And you may, of course, stay at Ardroy as long as you like.'

Keith bowed his head in acknowledgment. 'Thank you, Ewen.' 

They remained in silence for a while, and then Ewen continued, 'I would still like to consult Old Angus—perhaps he has seen something new.' 

'Well, let us go then,' said Keith. He stopped to put on coat, boots and swordbelt, while Ewen went outside. 

Keith paused in the porch. The slate of the previous day had been wiped completely, and there was no trace to be seen of the wind and rain of last night. Instead the sky was blue and small woolly clouds floated over it. Loch na h-Iolaire lay glittering beyond the birches that fringed it, though the air was crisp as if to remind them that autumn would eventually be coming. 

Keith heard Ewen speaking in Gaelic with someone round the corner of the house. He rounded the corner himself, and things happened very fast. 

Beyond Ewen was Lachlan, though Keith hardly recognised his disfigured face at first. When he saw Keith, black hatred ignited in his gaze, and with a hiss, he drew his knife. Attempting to get round Ewen, he made for Keith like a striking snake. What on earth? 

_'No!'_ cried Ewen. He threw himself in the way, raising his arm to ward off the blow.  
Keith saw bright blood on the sleeve of Ewen's shirt. 

But Keith had drawn his sword, and presently Lachlan was lying on the ground with the tip of the sword at his throat. He lay very still, but his eyes were still full of hatred, and he was speaking rapidly in Gaelic to Ewen. 

Ewen replied in the same language, kicking the knife from Lachlan's hand, then leaning down to slap him in the face. Blood dripped from the fingers of his left hand. Keith had never before seen Ewen so furious—he was incandescent with it, his blue eyes blazing. 

He interrupted the flow of Gaelic to say abruptly in English: 'Keith. Go and get a rope from the stable, to tie his wrists.' 

'Your arm—' protested Keith. 

'It's only a scratch,' Ewen said in dismissal. 

This was clearly not true, but he would hardly bleed out from it, either. Keith suppressed his questions, sheathed his sword and ran to the stable for rope, then returned and trussed Lachlan's wrists behind his back and tied his ankles together. 

'Let me look at your arm now,' said Keith in a tone that brooked no disagreement. 

Ewen nodded. He snapped something in Gaelic to Lachlan that was clearly an order, then picked up Lachlan's dirk. 

'Will he try to get loose, do you think?' asked Keith. 

'Not if he knows what's good for him,' replied Ewen darkly. 

The kitchen was empty, but Keith found clean linens in a drawer. Though he was no surgeon, he had seen his share of battlefield surgery, including some performed on himself. Ewen's wound seemed clean to him, and it was not serious: a shallow cut along the outside of his forearm from which blood was now seeping more sluggishly. It would clearly, however, need stitching, and Keith supposed he would have to do it himself. 

Ewen simply nodded when Keith suggested it to him, with a trust that rather unnerved Keith. 

'I have never done this before,' Keith confessed. 'My trade is rather in dealing wounds than sewing them up.'

'There should be needle and thread in my aunt's sewing basket, in the next room,' Ewen replied to this, and Keith went to fetch them. 

He rolled up Ewen's sleeve and steeled himself to the task, finding the slippery edges of the wound difficult to pierce. He would have liked to distract Ewen from the pain by asking him what he and Lachlan had said, and if he knew what had prompted this murderous attack, but he feared it would break his own concentration. Ewen, in any case, bore it stoically, though Keith could still feel simmering in him the remains of the fury he had shown outside, like a banked fire radiating heat. 

In the end Keith had managed to produce four tied-off stitches that were reasonably neat, along with a bandage of clean linen. He stood up and went to rinse the blood off. Though he had seen countless wounds in his years in the army, he found that his knees were slightly weak and his hands trembling. 

'Thank you,' Ewen said to him, taking hold of his hand. 

'Sewing you up is not to my taste,' said Keith, his voice slightly rough. Ewen's hand was warm in his. 'Please refrain from getting yourself cut up in the future.' 

'I'll do my best,' Ewen said with a wry smile. 

'See that you do. Now, tell me what you and Lachlan said out there, and why he flew out like that.' 

Ewen told him. 'He believed that you had killed his brother and betrayed me into prison, and he had sworn on the iron to kill you for it.' 

'That is...not far from what you yourself believed had happened, when we first met in prison. Poor Neil excepted, of course.' 

'Yes,' admitted Ewen, though his expression made it clear that he was very far from forgiving Lachlan. 'But you are my guest here and he tried to murder you, without attempting to find out what the facts in the case were.' 

'And you very likely saved my life,' said Keith quietly. 

'Yes, but it was my own foster-brother who attacked you at my own house, to my shame,' said Ewen bitterly. 

'Still,' said Keith, briefly letting his fingers alight on the bandage that he had so recently tied round Ewen's arm. 

Ewen looked at him for a long moment. 'Yes. I am glad I could return the favour. But—I don't think these things cancel out.' 

'No.' Keith found it hard to break away from Ewen's gaze. 

The sound of the door opening broke the moment, and they heard Miss Cameron, evidently having returned from her errand. 

'Why is Lachlan lying trussed up like a goose on the ground? I asked him, but he only turned his face into the dirt. And—mercy!' said she, seeing the bloody linens on the table. 'What on earth is going on here?'

And the explaining was all to do over again. Having heard the story, Miss Cameron shook her head, gathering the bloody linens and soaking them in cold water. 

'You are used to battlefields, I gather,' she told Keith. 'So I'll trust your bandaging. But Ewen—what will you do with Lachlan? You cannot leave him lying there on the ground much longer.' 

'He tried to murder a guest in my own house!' said Ewen hotly. 

'You know he did it for loyalty to you. Don't be too harsh on him. And—' Miss Cameron gave a measured glance at Keith, as if she would say more if he were not there. 

Keith understood her well enough, however. 'I am an Englishman and an enemy, I think you mean, and it is not to be wondered at that Lachlan mistrusted me,' he said mildly. 'Ewen, you need not punish him for my sake. But I beg you will make sure that he never does it again—I don't care to spend my time here wondering when I will get a knife between my ribs.' 

Ewen took a deep breath. 'If he had managed to actually harm you—but he did not. He must, however, apologise for it.' 

Keith assented with a nod. 

'We will turn Lachlan over to Old Angus, then, when he has apologised. Come, we were going there regardless.' 

Keith observed Miss Cameron give Ewen a worried look when she saw that he was going out, but she said nothing, no doubt aware that it would have been useless. 

Lachlan was lying where they had left him. Ewen knelt to untie his bonds while Keith stayed back, and they spoke in Gaelic for a while. 

Lachlan stood, visibly braced himself, and reluctantly spoke. 'I'm sorry I tried to stab you. You know why I did it, but I won't do it again. I give you my word. And—' he gritted his teeth, '—thank you for saving his life.' 

Keith could see Ewen's surprise and gratification at the latter, and Lachlan rose somewhat in Keith's estimation, though he rather looked as if that last addition had been a bitter draught to swallow. 

'Think no more of it,' Keith assured him. He would not kick a man when he was down. 'I understand that you did it for Ewen's sake. I hope you'll be as vigilant in his protection in the future, though with better information this time.' 

They set off for Old Angus' place, which was of course also Lachlan's home. Lachlan's presence rather inhibited conversation, and they said little, though Ewen and Lachlan exchanged some words in Gaelic. Keith looked sidelong at Ewen's limping pace—doubtless he should not be walking on that leg at all. But Keith suspected he would have as little luck telling him so as Miss Cameron had had keeping him indoors. And it was not very far, after all. 

The three little crofts, tucked away in a fold of land beyond the lake, were unharmed by fire or plunder, and there were even some cattle grazing nearby. Lachlan was received with much joy by the brood of MacMartins, but Old Angus, coming out squinting into the sun, regarded him with some satisfaction but not much surprise. 

'He has not the English,' explained Ewen, 'but I'll tell you afterwards what he said.' 

And with that, he sat down and began to speak with Old Angus. Keith, of course, understood nothing, and waited with some impatience for the conversation to be done. Finally it was, and Ewen indicated that they could go. 

'Well?' asked Keith. 'Any new visions? Other birds we should keep an eye out for?' 

Ewen's lips twitched. 'No, not that he told me. In fact, he could not tell me much at all. I asked whether the heron that we saw at Loch Arkaig could perhaps have marked the end of the prophecy, and he allowed that it might be so. But he would not give me a straight answer. He did say that it had happened before that he had seen the meeting of two people, but nothing more after that, and it need not mean anything dire. Beyond what has already happened, of course. For instance, he saw the meeting of Lochiel and Lady Lochiel, and after their marriage, nothing more.' 

Keith was not quite sure what to make of this comparison to a married couple. 'Well, I hope you are reassured, then.' 

'I am, I think.' Just at that moment they came over the little shoulder that had hidden Loch na h-Iolaire from their sight, and Ewen paused, regarding it with an expression that told of emotions that Keith himself had never felt for any place on earth. Keith found his own attention straying to Ewen's face rather than the view. 

'I am so very glad to see you back where you belong,' murmured Keith. 

Ewen turned the tail end of that smile on Keith. 'Yes,' he said simply. 

They began to descend the slight incline towards the loch. Keith saw with some worry that Ewen's limp seemed worse, and he wordlessly extended an arm towards him. Ewen hesitated, then took it, and Keith was glad to note that he leaned some of his weight upon it. 

When they had reached the water, Ewen paused. 'I would like to take the other way round the loch. There is something I must speak with you about, and I would rather do it where we would not be interrupted.' 

'As you wish,' Keith assented, and did not give vent to his curiosity. 

They left the path and ventured into the heather, where Ewen led them round the boggy ground near the loch onto the higher ground at the far side, where a copse of birches and a few pines were mirrored in the water. Keith pictured him playing here as a boy, surefooted and laughing. 

Reaching the copse, Ewen stopped. They were shielded from view by the trees and by the crag that stood by the lochside. 

'Yes?' enquired Keith. He still had no notion of what Ewen wished to speak about, and his first words did not enlighten him. 

'You almost died today by Lachlan's hand,' said Ewen seriously. 'And you will perhaps be leaving soon, with no certainty that we would ever meet again. Indeed, you might be leaving all the sooner when you hear what I have to say, but that is a risk I must take.' His mouth twisted in an uncertainty that Keith did not like to see. 

'Ewen, I cannot imagine that—' Keith began, but Ewen cut him off. 

'No, let me finish,' he said, and Keith subsided. 

'I am obliged to you for much,' Ewen continued, 'but more than that, I think you know that I consider you a true friend. And yet, I find even that word cannot contain all that I have come to feel for you. When I saw you from that window yesterday, I thought my heart would burst for joy. Keith, I—I love you most dearly. And not like a brother.' Ewen's face was now slightly flushed, but he determinedly kept his eyes on Keith's. 'If your feelings are not like mine, which I do not dare to hope that they are, then I beg that you will let me know at once, and I will not speak of it again. And I'll understand, in that case, if you choose to leave.' 

Keith felt as though fate, having cruelly slammed one door in his face, had now opened another, which he had hardly allowed himself to dream might exist. He was usually an articulate man, but in the face of Ewen's declaration, he found that no words would come to him. 

But when he saw Ewen turning his face away as if expecting any moment a rebuff, he could not stand it, and Keith let his actions speak instead. He took two decisive steps, closing the distance between them, and kissed him on the mouth. Ewen stood stiff and surprised for the barest moment, then his arms came around Keith, drawing him close. 

'Oh, Keith,' Ewen breathed against his mouth. 

For a few moments Keith was aware of Ewen's soft lips, the slight roughness of his chin, and then Ewen tilted his head into the kiss and opened his mouth, and with a rush of feeling Keith lost track of individual sensations. 

Some time later, they broke apart, breath coming quick. 'My leg,' said Ewen, wincing. 

'Yes, of course.' Keith directed him backwards to lean against the trunk of a birch. And then he twined his fingers in Ewen's hair to pull him down and kiss him senseless again, while Ewen's hands roved on his back, trying to get up underneath his coat. 

'You are so tall,' Keith panted. 'I don't believe I have ever had to turn my head up for a kiss before.' 

Ewen grinned. 'Well, you have a good handle on me, at least.'

'So I have.' And Keith tightened his hands in Ewen's hair and pulled him down again. 

Pressed close as they were, Keith could feel Ewen's arousal matching his own, and it became increasingly difficult to think of anything else, especially with Ewen's hands on his backside pulling him even closer. 

Finally Ewen, his face flushed and intent, murmured, 'May I?' 

And with Keith hastily assenting, Ewen began working at the fastening of Keith's breeches. Keith, realising that his own task was rather more simple, reached under Ewen's kilt and took hold of him firmly. 

'I begin to like this garment of yours,' he said. 

'You— _oh_ —that's not—' Ewen gasped, still struggling with Keith's buttons. 

Much gratified to have reduced him to such incoherence, Keith began slowly to move his hand, and was rewarded with a breathless groan. 

'Not fair, you mean?' murmured Keith into his ear. 

Ewen growled with impatience—there went one of Keith's buttons—and shoved his breeches down, taking him in hand. And at the sweet urgency of Ewen's hand on him, Keith almost lost his grasp on rational thought. 

From there on they spoke no more, only rushed on together towards the inevitable end. Ewen reached it first, but though his hand on Keith faltered, the sounds he made in Keith's ear were more than enough to send him over the edge as well. 

And then, knees going weak, they toppled to the ground like two trees struck by lightning. 

They lay there, breathing raggedly and hearts racing as if they'd run for a mile. Keith managed to pull his breeches up, to avoid the prickly vegetation. He felt unaccountably shy after the fact, but eventually brought himself to turn his face to meet Ewen's eyes. 

They looked into each other's eyes for a long uncertain moment, as if the world had been shaken under their feet and they were not sure it would bear their weight. 

Then the corner of Ewen's lip curled up. 'I'll sew your button on again,' he murmured. 

Keith could not help laughing. 'Oh, my _button_ , that's certainly my main concern right now.' 

Ewen smiled, looking boyish and happy and completely irresistible, and Keith did not try. He kissed him, and this time it was slow and sweet, without their earlier urgency. 

But then Keith sighed and broke the kiss, and sat up. 'You do realise the ground is wet? I can't believe we did this by a lakeside in the heather.' 

Ewen sat up, too. 'Where better?' he said, looking round in appreciation. 

Keith looked at him narrowly, not actually sure whether he were serious or teasing. 'There is this invention called a bed, perhaps you could look into it?' 

Ewen broke into a grin. They stood up, brushing themselves off as best they could. Ewen, seeing Keith's button on the ground, pocketed it. 

Keith saw the edge of this morning's bandage under the cuff of Ewen's shirt, and exclaimed, 'I forgot you were wounded; I hope I didn't hurt you.' 

Ewen looked at the bandage as if he had forgotten it existed. 'If you did, I didn't notice.' 

'Well, at least it is your left arm.' 

They set off round the loch, slowly on account of Ewen's leg. Before they came near the house, Keith stopped Ewen with a hand on his arm.

'That was brave of you, to declare yourself like that. Thank you,' he said seriously. 

'Well. I'm not sure I could have kept it in much longer,' said Ewen with a rueful smile. 'Or I would have regretted it forever.' 

'I could have,' muttered Keith. 

'You would not have said anything?' 

'Probably not.' 

'And do you think that would have been the better choice? We neither of us know what the future will bring,' said Ewen seriously. 

'I would not call it a choice, as such,' said Keith with a grimace. 'I'd call it cowardice. Or...I don't know. But I am glad you said something.' 

At supper that evening Keith had to exert all the skills of conversation and good manners that he could dredge up. Miss Cameron, he was sure, was an observant woman and she had known Ewen for most of his life. It was surely suspicious in itself that Ewen hardly looked at him during the meal, although given the way Ewen had looked at him at the lochside, that was probably the better course. 

Keith felt his heart fall as he realised the secrecy they had set themselves up for. Perhaps they would get used to it, but for now, he found it difficult to stand, and announced his intention of retiring early. 

'Ewen, do you have pen and paper? I need to write to my family.' 

'Yes, of course. And I need to go over the accounts. Aunt Marget has kept them admirably for me, but I must look them over.' 

Keith indeed began a letter to his step-father, but made little progress, not only because of the painful nature of the news that he would have to convey, but because of the turmoil of his mind. He would write half a sentence, only to realise that his thoughts had strayed and he had for minutes at a stretch let the pen sit idle in his hand. In the space of a week, Keith had received both a terrible blow that had ended the career that had been his pride and life's work, and the sweetest joy that his heart had known. And they were intimately related, for the latter had been the cause of the former. No wonder he could not think clearly. Wryly, he wondered whether Ewen were making progress with his accounts. 

It was now fully dark outside, and Keith had long ago lit the candle at his desk. Perhaps it was time to give over this botched attempt until tomorrow, and go to bed. 

There was a knock at the door. 'Yes?' said Keith. 

Ewen entered, closing the door behind him. 'How are your letters coming?'

Keith scowled. 'Not well.' 

'I'm sorry to hear that. I assume that you are writing to them about your commission?' 

Keith nodded. 

'Keith, is there no hope? I don't know the procedures, but surely there is some way to lodge an appeal?' 

This question went to the heart of Keith's own faint and half-formed hopes, that he kept on a very short rein for fear that he would cling to some groundless chance instead of accepting the bitter truth. 

'No appeal is possible, but the King could transmute the sentence. In practice, that would require men of interest interceding on my behalf.' 

'And are there any who could do so?' 

'My step-father, possibly,' said Keith shortly. 'He is the Earl of Stowe.'

Ewen raised his eyebrows at this. 'Oh. Keith, I'm sorry to push you. I know nothing of your family, and that is for you to tell me in your own time, if you wish to.' 

Keith sighed, leaning back in his chair. 'No, I'm sorry to be in a bad temper. I don't wish to raise any false hopes for myself when I know that few sentences are overturned. But you are right that I should do what I can—that is, after all, part of why I am writing this letter. If I ever manage to finish it.' 

They both fell silent, regarding each other in the warm light from the candle. It moved Keith, that Ewen would care so for his lost commission, knowing that if he still had it, it would be all but impossible for them to be together at all. 

Finally Ewen bent down to Keith's upturned face and kissed him lightly. 'I'll leave you to it, then. Good night.' 

'No, wait.' Keith stood, stepping into Ewen's arms and wrapping his own around him. Through Ewen's thin shirt he could feel the warmth and solidity of him, and Keith turned his face into Ewen's neck and breathed in the by now familiar smell of him. He could feel some of the tension running out of him. Ewen turned his head, and they kissed softly. 

Then Ewen sighed, casting a longing glance over Keith's shoulder at his bed. 'Well. I should go to my own bed.' 

'Yes. You should,' Keith said, reluctantly disentangling himself. 'Good night, Ewen.' 

'Keith. Goodnight, dear heart.' 

And Ewen left, leaving Keith standing there a little stunned, staring at the door which Ewen had closed behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Keith rose early and went out, but Ewen had been earlier still, and Keith saw him coming up from Loch na h-Iolaire with his hair hanging wet round his shoulders and his shirt half-plastered to his chest. 

'Did you fall in?' asked Keith, with a raised eyebrow. 

'Fall in! No, I went for a swim. You might join me next time,' replied Ewen. 

Keith was sure his face expressed how very little this idea appealed to him, and Ewen laughed. 

Since they were alone, Keith was free to admire Ewen however much he wanted, and he did. If he should somehow have been under the misapprehension that having Ewen once would sate his hunger for him, he was now coming to realise that the opposite was true. Ewen gave him a heated look in return. 

But, alas, they had to sit down to a civilised breakfast. 

After breakfast, however, Keith went to the stable to look after his horse. He was entirely unsurprised to see Ewen coming in after him, though he could not have said which of them reached for the other first, only that very soon their kisses had grown urgent and their hands found bare skin. 

Finally Ewen groaned and pushed him away. 'We can't do this.' 

The words struck Keith like a blow, and his face must have shown it. 

'No! No, I mean, we can't do it here,' said Ewen, and Keith was left with relief and the knowledge of just how much he wanted him. 

'I know a shieling standing empty a mile or so from here,' Ewen continued. 'We can go there. I have not even seen you with your clothes off. And I very much want to.' Ewen's gaze was intent on Keith. 

'And I,' said Keith, 'would surely like to take my time with you.' 

Ewen grinned. 'Well, I cannot promise you a proper bed, but you won't have to tumble me in the heather again, at least.' 

Under the excuse of Ewen surveying that part of his lands, they set off to the northeast, Ewen riding on Lively to spare his leg. He had changed into trews, the kilt not being a practical garment to ride in. 

The sky was sullen but not raining, their vision circumscribed by the low clouds. Dew still lay on the bracken and heather, and Keith's feet and stockings were soon wet. But he did not care. Keith was aware that his current happiness must be a temporary thing—how could it be otherwise? What future could they possibly have? But he would take with both hands what he could of this moment. He looked up at Ewen, who was looking out over his lands, his gaze distant. Then, as if he felt Keith looking at him, he looked down and smiled. 

Keith did not care to bring up his thoughts about the future. Instead, he asked, 'How long have you…' and found he did not know how to end the sentence. He tried again. 'That night when we shared blankets at Loch Arkaig—did you want me then?' 

Ewen looked sheepish. 'A Highlander too cold to sleep alone in his plaid in July—I am ashamed to have implied it. Yes, I wanted you then. And you?' 

'Yes,' said Keith, 'but I had not admitted it to myself before.' 

'Then I'm glad I did it. As for how long—' Ewen pondered it while they began to descend into a dell where lay the croft that was their destination, or so Keith assumed. '—I cannot say exactly. But I think it took root in me that night on Beinn Laoigh when you came back to care for me, though I did not know it until later.' 

They had come to the shieling now, and Ewen pulled up Lively and looked down at Keith with a more playful air. 'More importantly,' he murmured, 'I want you now.' 

'Yes?' Keith stepped close and ran his hand up Ewen's thigh where he sat astride the saddle. 

'Oh—you need not entice me further.' He dismounted and tied Lively to a tree. 

Keith had no chance to discern the details of the small building's interior—he had no more than stepped through the door when he was pinned to the wall with a thump, and soon had Ewen's tongue in his mouth. And all the morning's pent-up desire surged up in Keith. Finding that he very much liked feeling Ewen's strength against him, and measuring his own against it, their kissing turned into something like a wrestling match, though they were both careful of Ewen's leg. 

At the last Keith lay, still fully clothed, flat on his back on the floor with Ewen heavy on top of him, holding him down. He felt impossibly hard, and the way Ewen was moving against him hardly made him less so. 

'Ewen,' he gasped, 'let me get my breeches off, or—'

'Mmm,' said Ewen incoherently, and sat up enough that they could both, for greater efficiency, unfasten their own clothes and shove them out of the way. Then they came together again, and Ewen reached his hand down to encompass them both. Keith could do little but cling to his neck and try in vain to last at least a little longer, but he lost that battle quite soon, and arched up against Ewen as pleasure overwhelmed him completely. Ewen soon followed. 

Keith's subsequent blissful stupor gave way eventually to an awareness that the floor was hard, and Ewen, who was lying half on top of him, was heavy. Keith nudged him. 'Move, you barbarian. I believe you promised me something resembling a bed, not a dirt floor.' 

Ewen did, and turned an abashed face towards him. 'I suppose that was somewhat lacking in finesse.' 

'It was somewhat like being ridden down by cavalry,' Keith allowed. 'Oh, don't look like that! I enjoyed it very much, as you cannot have failed to notice.' 

Ewen broke into a smile. 'Well then, it's not too late for the bed.' He got to his feet, pulling Keith up by his hands. 

'And not', said Keith, 'too late for taking our time, if you but give me some time to recover.' 

The cot they found was not a true bed, but with its rude mattress stuffed with bracken and sedge, it was softer than the floor. Keith looked at the plaid he had thrown off and said, 'You must show me later how to put this on properly—there is such a lot of it that I have no notion of how to wear it.' 

Ewen looked much gratified at this. 'I shall be glad to. But for now, I would rather you continue to take your clothes off than put them on.' 

Keith obliged him in this, stripping off his coat, waistcoat and shirt, and then his unfastened breeches and his still damp stockings. 

Since Ewen was only standing there looking at him and not accomplishing anything in the way of undressing, Keith proceeded to help him. Together they made short work of Ewen's shirt and trews. 

Keith spread his cloak on the cot. 'Come,' he said, lying down, and Ewen came. They embraced, and Keith shivered at the wealth of bare skin against his own. 

'Are you cold?' asked Ewen. 

'No,' replied Keith, running his hand down along the expanse of smooth warm skin on Ewen's back. 

Ewen's own hands were meanwhile exploring Keith's body. He traced the scar in Keith's side. 'Where did you get this?' he asked. 

'Fontenoy,' said Keith, and Ewen's eyes widened. He sat up and ran light fingers across it, then continued up to the faded gouge on Keith's upper left arm. 'And that?'

Keith snorted. 'Decidedly less to my credit. A damned recruit who couldn't handle his own musket.' 

'It might have killed you.' 

'Yes, certainly. A corporal in another company was killed that way, soon after I joined up.'

Ewen's hand wandered to a long shallow slash on Keith's lower right arm, healed but still reddish and not yet faded into the white of scar tissue. 

'A broadsword, at Falkirk,' said Keith, before Ewen could ask. 'It was only a glancing blow.' 

Ewen drew in a breath. 'I never saw you there.' 

'No, nor at Culloden, either. For which I'm grateful.' Keith looked up at Ewen, raising an eyebrow. 'Are you done reading my history?' 

'Yes,' said Ewen, lying down beside him again. 'At least for now.' 

Keith looked into Ewen's blue eyes, then brushed their lips together. They kissed, light and exploratory, and feeling just the tip of Ewen's tongue against his own, Keith felt the first slow curl of returning arousal. 

Some while later, his whole body was humming with it, but still without the urgency of their first coupling. Keith believed he had never been kissed with quite this dedication: slow, thorough, as though it were an end in itself. 

Keith rolled over, getting up on hands and knees over Ewen, who was spread out beneath him, his hair loose and his expression dazed. Despite his muscled body, Keith could see the marks that prison and the battlefield had left on him: the way his ribs showed more than they should, the dreadful half-healed scar on his thigh, and other, smaller scars. But that only made him more dear to Keith. Below the tan on his face, his skin was fair, with a scattering of reddish hair on his chest and belly, leading enticingly down. Recalling his own impressions of Ewen over the first days of their acquaintance, Keith could hardly believe that he had not recognised his own admiration of Ewen for what it was. 

'Are you content merely to look at me?' asked Ewen. 

'You are well worth looking at,' replied Keith. 'But no, I'll do more than that.' 

He leaned down and tasted the skin of Ewen's neck where it joined his shoulder, slightly salty from his sweat. Keith could feel a shiver running through Ewen, and he turned his head to one side, offering his neck for Keith's further exploration. Keith took full advantage of this, then ventured further down his chest, to his nipples, so different from a woman's. But perhaps—Keith took one into his mouth, sucked on it, and Ewen drew in a startled breath. 

Having tarried there a while, Keith went further down, planting himself between Ewen's outspread legs, open and vulnerable before him. Keith looked at Ewen's flushed arousal and knew that he had wanted that in his mouth all along. Crude imprecations between the lowest sort of soldiers went through his mind, muttered exhortations to 'suck prick!' But as he leaned down and took Ewen in his hand and then in his mouth, it did not feel to him a demeaning thing to do, at all. 

Ewen gave a strangled little noise of surprise. Keith could feel him responding in his mouth, and consequently sucked harder. But then he raised his head, asking, 'Shall I go on?' 

' _Yes._ That is, if you want to.' With a flushed face, he raised himself on his elbows to look down at Keith. 

'I do,' said Keith, and lowered his head again. As Keith gradually discovered the use of his tongue and hands as well as his lips, Ewen collapsed back on the cot and grew more vocal, though not more coherent, in his response. But Keith had no difficulty in telling whether his efforts brought him pleasure: his every movement and sound declared it. 

Though he did not touch himself, Keith found the act almost unbearably arousing, and the ache between his own legs only made him apply himself the more to Ewen's pleasure. 

At the last, Ewen cried out in warning, 'Keith, I—' and Keith let his hand continue to work while he raised his head to see Ewen's head thrown back in the extremity of passion, his mouth open, his eyes closed. 

At the sight of him, Keith got up to lean over him, beginning to take himself in hand with some urgency, but Ewen recovered enough to open his eyes. 

'No, don't!' he said, taking hold of Keith's hand and holding it still. 'That is for me to do.' 

Keith made a noise of some frustration. 'Very well. Though I don't imagine it will take very long.' 

'No?' said Ewen. 'Come, lie here.' 

And he rolled over on his side, indicating that Keith should lie against him, with his back to Ewen's front. 

Keith did. At Ewen's first touch on him, Keith sighed in relief, but he was not to continue in that emotion, as Ewen's ministrations seemed rather designed to tease him than to relieve his frustration. Keith tried to school himself to patience, with poor results. 

'Had you done that before?' asked Ewen. 

Keith attempted to clear his mind enough to supply a rational answer. 'No. But it was my pleasure, as I'm sure you can tell.' 

Ewen laughed, low in his ear. 'Not entirely yours.' 

'I'm glad. Now—if you would supply a firmer grip than that—'

'I thought you wanted to take your time,' said Ewen innocently. 

'Oh, you—' Keith managed to suppress a few choice soldier's curses. Ewen's grip was firmer now, but his hand was entirely still, and when Keith attempted to move, Ewen pinned him down with a leg on top of his own. 

Now entirely without recourse, Keith groaned, 'Ewen, _please_.' 

Ewen rewarded him with a few strokes, and Keith descended into shameless begging, with fewer results than he wished. But when he had lost most of his words, only making desperate little noises when his breath caught in his throat, Ewen at last sped up his hand with blessed firmness, and before he quite expected it, Keith came hard, while Ewen kept his hand moving for pulse after pulse of it. 

When Keith emerged to consciousness again some moments later, he was dimly aware of having made quite an appalling amount of noise. He lay there, too wrung-out to move, while Ewen leaned over him to retrieve a plaid from the floor and spread it over them both. 

'That was a new side of you,' Keith finally managed. 

Ewen looked embarrassed, and Keith laughed. To tease him so mercilessly, and then to blush about it afterwards! 

'Well, you may be sure I'll repay you for it eventually,' said Keith. 

'I will look forward to it,' murmured Ewen. 'But for now, I am quite tired out.' 

He lay down again, pulling Keith close and dropping a kiss on the back of his neck. 

And the two men lying there together under the Cameron plaid, one held close in the arms of the other, slipped quietly into sleep, their breathing coming slow and steady, while outside the little shieling a soft rain fell over the valley of Ardroy. 

***

Keith drifted awake by slow degrees, aware at first only of a contentment so deep that he had hardly been aware of the lack that it filled. All about him was their mingled scent, Ewen's warmth and the bulk of his solid naked body, his arm lying heavy on Keith. He let himself lie there for a few moments more, then stirred: he did not know what time it was, and they should be getting back. 

Ewen made a sleepy little noise and tightened his arms possessively about him, then mumbled 'Keith?' 

Keith turned round in his arms, to stroke the disheveled hair from his face and kiss his sleep-warm cheek. 

Ewen's eyes opened, then he sighed. 'We should be going home,' he murmured. 

Keith nodded, put the plaid aside, and regretfully sat up. Their garments were strewn all about the floor, and he sorted his out and dressed, while Ewen did the same. 

Outside, a light steady rain was falling from clouds that hung so low as to almost envelop them in fog, and the air was still and quiet. In the near distance, the heather faded into a soft pale violet. Ewen stopped to rearrange his plaid, which had been fastened over one shoulder, so as to make a hood over his head. Lively stood patiently with her head down, gnawing desultorily at the sedge round the shieling, but came eagerly when Keith untied her. No doubt she wanted the stable. 

Ewen wiped off the wet saddle with a fold of his plaid and mounted, and they set off. In another frame of mind, Keith might have found the weather dreary, but his heart was so light that even the drip of water down his neck could not damp it down. All those painful memories of rain—his father's funeral, Lydia's betrayal: Keith believed that this one occasion would be enough to overshadow them all and forever associate rain in his mind with this unlooked-for, improbable joy. 

Which was perhaps as well, if he was to spend any further length of time in the Highlands. 

'Keith?' said Ewen. 

'Yes?' Keith looked up at him, towering on the horse. 

'Had you...been with a man before?' 

'Only some...schoolboy experiments. Since then, only with women, and not that either, for some time.' Keith had to confess curiosity at Ewen's history, as well. 'And you?' 

'No. Never. Though I was aware of my...potential for it. But it was not something one did.' 

'No, indeed not. Given the danger, I think no one would pursue it who was not driven by strong need or emotion. But—' and here Keith paused, for he was somewhat anxious as to Ewen's reply. 'You don't consider it a sin?' 

Ewen was silent a while, and then said, 'As for the crime, it is one with no victim. So that I can dismiss. And the sin...we are told that it is one, but in my heart I cannot reconcile that with the love I feel for you. Even in the Bible, we see such love: there is David and Jonathan. And, though not in the Bible, Achilles and Patroclus. Keith, you must have read the classics as well.'

'Yes, of course.' Keith coloured somewhat, recalling the journal he had kept in the early days of their acquaintance, where he had indeed made such references, though unaccountably unaware of their import for him personally. 

But Keith was relieved—there might be many barriers to their happiness, but Ewen's faith was not one. 

'I consider it neither sin nor crime, myself,' said Keith. 'But the law does. You do know that we took a risk, just now? Anyone might have come by the croft, especially with the horse standing there.' 

'Yes,' agreed Ewen. 'We must be more careful in future, I know it. But—I could not help it, this first time. And at least,' he said, half-jesting, 'I suppose we have not broken the letter of the law.' 

'Yet,' said Keith dryly. 'Look at what we have accomplished in less than two days. Give us a week and a bed where we may lie, and I will not answer for what we do.' 

Ewen laughed, and gave Keith a look that promised fulfilment of those hopes. 

But they were not to have a week, nor lie in any beds together, either. That evening, as they were sitting by the hearth in the raftered living-room, Keith persevering at his letter and Ewen and Miss Cameron at their accounts, there was a swift, low knock at the door. 

It opened without waiting for a reply. 'Margaret? Ewen?' 

'Archie!' they both exclaimed. In came Doctor Archibald Cameron, Lochiel's brother, whom Keith had not seen since his captivity in Lochaber at the beginning of the rebellion. But on seeing Keith, he halted abruptly. 

'Captain Windham!' he said, in some dismay. There was no doubt a price on his head, and he did not relish finding a redcoat in what he supposed to be a refuge. 

'Archie, it's all right!' said Ewen, while Keith rose and bowed slightly. 

'You will note that I'm not in uniform, Dr Cameron,' said Keith—indeed, he was wearing the plaid that Ewen had given him over his shoulders. 'And you must henceforth address me as "Mr Windham". I—have lost my commission. For Ewen's sake, and for your honourable treatment of me when we last met, you need not fear that I'll turn you in. Nor Lochiel, either; I hope that he is well. But do not tell me of your Prince's whereabouts—that I could not in conscience keep to myself.' 

'I am sorry to hear that you have lost your commission, Mr Windham,' said Dr Cameron. 'If I may say so without giving offence, there are some of your fellow officers who have acted with far less honour than what I have seen of you, and who still hold their commissions. I regret to hear that your superiors did not value you.' 

Keith bowed again. He could not object to Dr Cameron's statement. 

Dr Cameron's glance went from Keith to Ewen. Keith could wish Ewen would remain silent, but however, he did not. 

'Archie, what Keith does not say is that he saved my life and my liberty, at great cost to himself.' Ewen's voice was low but intense. 

Keith tried to control his expression. Between Ewen's declaration, Keith's own use of Ewen's first name, and the plaid over his shoulders, he feared that they were telling Dr Cameron more than Keith would have wished him to know. 

Dr Cameron, however, had turned to Keith again. 'I am very grateful to you for your service to my cousin. I'm sure Lochiel would wish to express the same, if he were here. If there is anything I can do for you in return, you have only to say. Though,' he said with a smile, 'as a man with a price on his head, there may not be much I can do.' 

'It was done for the sake of obligation and friendship,' said Keith. 'No reward is needed, save that he is alive and free.' 

'I am glad, then. But Ewen, I had heard that you were wounded,' said Dr Cameron. 'That is part of why I'm here.' 

'My leg? It only needs rest,' protested Ewen. 

'I will be the judge of that. And what is the bandage on your arm?' Dr Cameron went over to Ewen. 

'Oh—that is a complicated story. But 'tis only a scratch, and Keith stitched it up for me.' 

'Indeed?' Dr Cameron glanced at Keith. 

'Only because there was no one else,' said Keith. 'I would be glad if you examined it; I am certainly no surgeon.' 

'Yes, I will. Ewen?' 

'Very well, Archie,' said Ewen meekly, and then in a more animated tone, 'And about Lochiel—I must speak to you...' 

He glanced at Keith. 'I'm sorry; it is clan business.' 

'Of course.' But Keith could well guess the matter that weighed on Ewen's mind, or part of it, at least. 

'Then we can speak and I'll examine you, both.' Dr Cameron retired with Ewen to another room. 

Keith and Miss Cameron, left by the hearth, sat in silence. But when Keith had at last managed to conclude his letter to his step-father, putting down the pen in relief, Miss Cameron said, 'Mr Windham?'

'Yes, madam?' Keith turned to her politely. 

'I have been endeavouring to persuade Ewen to leave Ardroy—to go to France. He is not safe here. Has he spoken to you on the subject?' 

'He has mentioned it,' said Keith, 'and I think your concerns are quite justified.' 

She looked relieved. 'Will you, then, add your arguments to mine, since mine are not enough to persuade him? It would break my heart if…' She pressed her lips together, and turned her head away. 

'I understand—you must have been as a mother to him. I'll speak with him. ' 

And it would break his heart, too. Keith had been too overwhelmed by recent events to properly consider the danger that Ewen was still in, but having it brought to his attention, he was hardly so short-sighted that he would set the pain of being parted against the risk of Ewen's capture. 

Dr Cameron and Ewen, coming out of their impromptu examining room, rejoined them. 

'That was a creditable job, for an amateur,' Dr Cameron told Keith. 'You'll be glad to know that there is no infection.' 

'Thank you,' said Keith. 'I'm glad of that.' 

'And now,' said Dr Cameron, 'I have been speaking to Ewen on a matter which I know is on your mind also, Margaret. Now that I have set your mind to rest as far as I can, Ewen, will you not consider leaving for France? You are not safe at Ardroy.' 

'I am very glad to have your support in this,' said Miss Cameron. 'Perhaps you can accomplish what I could not.' 

'Ewen,' said Keith gently. 'I did not save your life so that you could throw it away again. You should leave, if you can.' 

'All three of you?' Ewen looked from one to the other of them, like a great stag trapped at bay. 'I would rather skulk in sight of Loch na h-Iolaire with nothing but my plaid and a handful of meal, than lie in the French King's bed at Versailles!'

'Yes, but that is not the choice you have,' said Keith implacably. 'Your first alternative is like to be the scaffold.' 

'And you, then?' Ewen turned to Dr Cameron. 'There is a price on your head. Will you stay and advise me to go?' 

'Indeed not,' replied Dr Cameron. 'I shall certainly make for France—if God will—when my tasks here are done. And as for taking to the heather in winter for any length of time, your leg would not bear it.' 

Ewen's broad shoulders slumped, his resistance overcome. 'Very well, then.' 

Miss Cameron, putting a hand on his shoulder, said, 'Ewen, I am so very glad. It is not yet late in the day; I'll send to the MacMartins, and arrange food for your journey. For that matter, we should all eat.' 

And with that, Miss Cameron briskly set in train the preparations for Ewen's departure. 

'You must take my horse,' offered Dr Cameron. 'Your leg will not bear walking.'

Ewen began to protest, but Dr Cameron cut him off, saying, 'And I had much better go on foot, where I'm headed next. Ewen, you remember where to go?' 

'Yes, I remember.' 

When they had all sat down to a hastily prepared meal, Miss Cameron said, 'You need not fear for your tenants and the estate. I will be here to take care of them.' 

'Of course,' replied Ewen. 'No laird ever had a better factor than you, Aunt Marget.' 

But Dr Cameron looked troubled. 'As to that...Ewen, your father signed over his estate for safe-keeping, in the Nineteen. If he had not, you would not now be laird of Ardroy. And I expect the confiscation of estates will be worse, this time.' 

A new shadow came over Ewen's face, which had its share of troubles already. 'Oh—I had forgotten that. Who did he sign it to?' 

'To one of the Stewarts, your mother's cousin. He was not out that time, since it cost him his leg in the Fifteen.' 

'And of course, if I am to leave now, it is too late to find someone who would be trustworthy yet not involved in the Rising.' Ewen leaned his head in his hand in thought, then raised it slowly. 'Unless...Keith?' 

Keith stared at him. He saw himself suddenly as from the outside, and it was a surreal picture: here he was, invited to plot with Jacobites for the preservation of the estate of a rebel against King George; one who had, moreover, been aide-de-camp to the young Pretender himself. The Keith Windham of a year ago would not have credited it, would indeed have laughed it off as an utter absurdity. 

Ewen repeated his name, with a trace of uncertainty this time, and Keith was returned with a jolt to the present. He never wanted to hear Ewen sound uncertain of his aid, not in a matter in which he could honourably aid him. And in this matter, he found that he could. He was minded of Ewen's expression as they had come in sight of Loch na h-Iolaire yesterday, and the thought that he might never again look at the loch that way was unbearable. 

'Yes, of course,' said Keith hastily. 'You may sign the estate over to me, if you think it advisable.' He gave Ewen a wry smile. 'Forgive me, I was only picturing how absurd this situation would have seemed to me a year ago, when you first captured me.' 

Ewen threw his head back and laughed. 'Ay, and so would I have found it: to think that I would willingly sign over Ardroy to one of the Elector's redcoat officers! Forgive me; "your King", I will say, since you were generous enough to say "your Prince" before.' 

Miss Cameron still looked somewhat worried. 

But Ewen simply said, with finality, 'Aunt Marget, I trust him.' 

'You need not be concerned that I would make any changes,' Keith told her. 'I would only hold the deed, until his return.' 

'Very well, then,' she said. 'I suppose it is the best course of action. And—I thank you, Mr Windham.' 

Keith acknowledged this with a nod. 'But I'm afraid I don't know the Scottish law at all, so you would have to instruct me in what to do. Not that I am any great expert in English law, either,' he admitted. 

'I believe I know the legalities well enough to draw up the deed. It is, after all, a time-honoured tradition for us Jacobites,' said Dr Cameron, with a glint in his eye which Keith interpreted as his acknowledgment of the irregularity of the situation. 'I will stand as witness.' 

'And I,' said Miss Cameron, 'will draw up your commission to me as factor, with permission to draw on the funds. You must go to Edinburgh, to register the deed.' 

'As you say,' said Keith. 'I'll do it as soon as I can.' 

A knock on the door, and Ewen admitted Lachlan and another of Ewen's tenants, prepared, it seemed, to leave on the spot. Ewen went upstairs to pack. After a while Keith followed, and seeing the door to Ewen's room stand open, he slipped through it and closed the door behind him. 

Ewen, surrounded by clothes and other necessities, looked to see what he wanted. Keith took a deep breath. 

'Before you leave,' he told Ewen in a low voice, 'I need to tell you something. Yesterday you told me what your feelings were, and I...never replied. Or rather, I replied with a kiss. Actions are, I fear, sometimes easier for me than words, at least words that are…' 

Keith stopped, before he could get further tangled in irrelevance. 'Let me try again. Ewen, I love you. That is all I meant to say.' Keith could hear the abruptness of the statement, but even such a botched declaration of love left him feeling as though he were turned inside-out. He could not recall the last time he had said such a thing. 

'All?' said Ewen, wondering. Then Keith found himself enfolded in Ewen's arms and crushed so that he could hardly breathe. Releasing him, Ewen said, 'Keith, your actions do speak for you. When I think of all that you have done for me, and what it has cost you, and now you have taken on my estate, as well… But—I cannot tell you how glad I am to hear you say it, as well.' 

Keith could not bear to let him leave without a last kiss, and Ewen took hold of his head with both hands and returned the kiss rather desperately. 

A swift knock on the door, and it opened. 

'Ewen, I think—oh. I beg your pardon.' And Dr Cameron closed the door again. 

They had broken apart, staring at each other. 'I should not have kissed you,' said Keith grimly. 

But Ewen was shaking his head. 'And I should not have kissed you back, then.' He sighed, and Keith wished he did not have to see that expression on Ewen's face. 

'I loathe this secrecy,' said Ewen with emphasis, 'and I am bad at it besides! Would that it were not necessary.' 

'What will he say, do you think?' asked Keith. 

'Archie? I daresay he will hardly approve, but he is no informer. And...since I am leaving, he will perhaps think us well separated.' 

Keith's hands tightened on Ewen's. 'You must write to me at Stowe House, when you get to France.' He did not say, 'if you get to France'.

'I will. Keith, my dearest…' Ewen looked torn. 

And Keith found the strength to give him one last brief kiss and then say, 'You must finish packing. And I must leave this room, before all the household finds us like this.' Leaving the door ajar, he left. 

Having already made what farewells he could, Keith made himself unobtrusive during the rest of the preparations. At the last, he only pressed Ewen's hand and exchanged a glance with him before he mounted, and though he did his best to ensure that his face remained impassive, Keith felt his every emotion must have been apparent in that brief look for all to see. 

He deliberately turned away, rather than look at Ewen's progress up the hillside towards the sinking sun in the west. 

'I must leave soon, as well,' said Dr Cameron. 'Better I travel in the dark, where I'm headed. But—Mr Windham, may I have a word with you?'

Keith's heart sank, though there was a spark of resentment in his breast as well. But—'Of course,' said Keith, for what else could he say? 

Dr Cameron closed the door between them and the household. 'I wished to reassure you, like you did me, that I am no informer.' 

'I thank you,' said Keith stiffly. Ewen's very words—he knew his cousin well. 

Dr Cameron continued, rather more bluntly this time, 'As his kinsman, you will no doubt guess that I would prefer him to find happiness with Alison Grant, or some other suitable clanswoman, as lady of Ardroy and the mother of his children. Yet I understand that Ewen would not now be alive and free, were it not for you, and his estate is now also in your hands.' 

Keith felt his face to be rather red, and his powers of conversation quite unequal to the task. What could he possibly say? That his intentions were honourable? Ha. 

'I—did not ask for this,' he got out, hardly aware that he said it. 

Archibald Cameron regarded him keenly. 'Ewen has told me of the prophecy that brought you together, and I am Highlander enough not to disregard it. Forgive me for the discomfort of this interview, but I was curious to see what sort of man has held my cousin's fate in his hands, and still does.' 

Keith's pride reared its head then, and his chin rose. 'One who will act as his own honour and conscience dictates, and who cares a great deal for your cousin, who moreover, I will remind you, has a will of his own. You need not fear that I will fail him.' 

Dr Cameron inclined his head. 'Godspeed you to Edinburgh, then.' 

And the interview was over. Keith emerged wondering what lay before him next: a confrontation with Miss Cameron, perhaps—though the horror of that prospect made him beg leave to retire directly after Dr Cameron's departure, with intimations that he would leave on the morrow. 

To his relief, Miss Cameron betrayed no awareness of his relationship with Ewen. But she did say firmly that since the estate was now in his care, even if only in name, he needed to know more about it, and if he would stay at least one more day, she would instruct him. 

During the next day, Miss Cameron showed him where the boundaries of their land lay, told him of the tenants, and gave him an elementary overview of their assets and accounts. He sensed her reluctance to accept that he, as an outsider and an Englishman, should have the right to know these things, and yet she still did it. 

That evening his head was spinning with all that she had told him, and yet she shook her head. 'We must hope that nothing happens to me, for you certainly know only a small fraction of what you would need to know if you were to actually manage this estate while Ewen is gone.' 

Keith lay in his bed that night, wishing Ewen all speed to the coast and a French ship to bear him to safety.


	4. Chapter 4

Early in the morning, Keith's sleep was interrupted by a racket at the front door. He quickly dressed and, sword at his side, ran down the stairs. 

But he had no need to draw his sword. With a cold foreboding, he saw that the man at the door was Lachlan, though a Lachlan disheveled and with dried blood on his forehead, and such an expression of despair on his face that Keith knew before he said anything what must have happened. 

He was speaking rapidly with Miss Cameron in Gaelic, and Keith, desperate, broke in on them in English. 'What has happened? Tell me!' 

Lachlan turned to him with wild, black eyes. 'I should haf died!' he cried. In his distress, his accent was more than usually pronounced. 

'That would not have helped him,' said Miss Cameron, her voice tight and strained. 'Lachlan was hit on the head and left for dead,' she explained to Keith. 

'Is he taken, then?' asked Keith, though he knew what the answer must be. 

'Your _saighdearan dearga_ , your—English!' he almost spat at Keith. 

As if this were Keith's fault! But he must know the essentials, and know them now. 'Which way did they go? Tell me!' 

'He fought them, and—and Dougal is dead! But--' In the extremity of his emotion, Lachlan broke into Gaelic again. 

Keith had the urge to grip his shoulders and try to shake some sense into him, but feared that would provoke violence. 

'Lachlan, listen to me: _I would die for him, too._ ' Keith's voice was measured, but he had let some of his own wild emotion shine through. 'Now tell me where they went!' 

Lachlan stared at him as though Keith was, for the first time since he had met him, saying something sensible. 

'South,' said Lachlan. 'The—tracks of the horses. I saw them.' 

'Fort William, then,' said Keith grimly. 'Or most likely so.' 

'Is there anything you can do?' Miss Cameron's voice was just as grim. 'But do not give me false hope, for I could not bear it.' 

'I will certainly not do that, for there is nothing I can be sure of,' replied Keith. 'I may be able to communicate with him, at least. I think it likely that he will be identified and that charges will be brought against him. This is not entirely certain, for the Duke of Cumberland himself tried to convince me to testify against him, saying that witnesses were hard to come by. Needless to say, I refused him. But I cannot believe such witnesses will not be found: with his distinctive height, his visibility in Edinburgh, and his presence at Culloden...no. We must assume he will be brought to trial,' Keith concluded bleakly. 

'And then?' asked Miss Cameron. 

'Ewen would not deny his allegiance and his active participation—he has told me himself that he would not buy his life at the cost of his honour. No, what I can do is to testify to the truth, the full truth: his good treatment of me and his honourable behaviour, as compared to what he himself suffered in the prison at Fort Augustus.'

'Will that help, do you think?' 

Keith spread his hands helplessly. 'I cannot say. I can only hope that a jury will prove less bloodthirsty than Cumberland has been, and that they can be moved to leniency.' 

Lachlan spoke in Gaelic, perhaps demanding clarification, and Miss Cameron replied in kind. 

Meanwhile, Keith's thoughts raced further: if Ewen should be sentenced, then Keith might apply to his stepfather, who, as the Earl of Stowe, had political influence and might possibly be able to prevent the sentence from being carried out. But Keith did not say this—he could not pledge another man's aid. No: while his stepfather would, Keith was sure, do his best to overturn Keith's court-martial sentence, he did not share Keith's ties of love and obligation to Ewen. Why should he, a Whig peer, use his influence on behalf of an avowed Jacobite who was a stranger to him, even at Keith's asking? 

Best to throw himself into action, and not get mired in doubts and fears. 'Now, I must leave at once,' said Keith. 'First to Fort William, to find him and see where he will be sent, then to Edinburgh. The trial was to be at Carlisle last time, so that is perhaps the most likely.' 

Miss Cameron seemed to be of his mind, for she also made herself busy, going to the back of the house to rouse a servant, and then saying, 'You shall eat first, and I will arrange food for the journey.' 

'Do you wish to write him a letter?' asked Keith. 'I doubt I will be able to speak to him, but a letter, perhaps, will be permitted. But I warn you it will be read, before it reaches him.' 

'Yes. Thank you,' said Miss Cameron. 'Now, Lachlan, sit down. You look like to faint. The bleeding seems to have stopped, but we will look at your head soon.'

Lachlan did sit down, but said, in voice more subdued but still intense, 'I should go, too.' 

Keith pictured travelling with Lachlan, and could hardly imagine any companion less to his liking—to be sure he was devoted to Ewen, but with that mercurial and violent temper Keith himself would hardly feel at ease, no matter the promise Ewen had extracted from him. And he could not be of any help at Fort William. 

But Lachlan might not listen to him: with a look, Keith mutely appealed to Miss Cameron, who thankfully seemed to understand him. 

'Lachlan, you are injured,' she said firmly. 'You could not help Ewen by falling in a faint by the wayside.' 

Lachlan objected in his native tongue, and Miss Cameron continued her persuasion in the same, until finally Lachlan subsided. Marsali set out food for them, and they ate. 

'Lachlan has perhaps a point,' said Miss Cameron. 'Do you need a guide, or someone to vouch for you, if you should meet with Jacobite clansmen? They are not overfond of the English these days. Perhaps we might send Angus with you; he is hale.' 

Keith considered this. 'As to the guide, I daresay I do not need one; I have travelled the Highlands for more than a year now. And for the other—if I wore my uniform still, I would no doubt be in danger. As it is...I will take my chances alone. And Angus, should you send him, would no doubt himself be in danger on the way back.' 

'That is kind of you to consider,' said Miss Cameron. 'Well, I will write you a letter to vouch for you, so that they do not take you for an enemy. Any Cameron would of course give you aid and hospitality if they could, if they only knew what you are about. And the MacDonalds and Stewarts are our allies—Ewen's mother was a Stewart, you know.' 

'Thank you.' Keith went to pack, while Miss Cameron attended to her letters. 

Soon enough, he was ready to leave. Miss Cameron, with a controlled manner, handed him that letter along with one for Ewen. 

'Miss Cameron, I will do my best to see that it reaches him,' said Keith. 'I am aware that you, who must stay here and wait in uncertainty, have by far the most difficult task. I assure you that I will do everything in my power to help him, and I will write to you as soon as I have any news.' 

She put her hand to her face as if to hide her emotion, and when she again looked at Keith, there were tears in her eyes. But her voice was steady. 'Mr Windham, I am grateful to you. Godspeed.' 

As Keith rode away from Ardroy, he looked at Loch na h-Iolaire as if he might preserve the image in his mind and somehow carry it to Ewen, as a source of strength to him. The changeable wind and sun shivered over the surface of the little loch, giving it life where it lay in the cradle of the surrounding hills. And for Keith, too, the grove of birches on the far side of the loch now held a memory that he would never forget. 

He resolutely turned his face to the south, and soon Ardroy was hidden behind a fold of the hill. Keith had never gone this way before, though Lively had, with Ewen on her back: he need only follow the valley south, and presently reach Achnacarry. 

So he did, passing that little hill where he and Ewen had first shared their blankets. At the sight of it, Keith gave a low utterance of pain, though he hardly knew it. Had he saved Ewen to no purpose, then? No, for he lived still, and they had shared those few precious days together. 

And there was yet hope, or so he would have to believe, if he was to go on. 

Keith reached Fort William in the afternoon, the bulk of its stone mass rearing up on the shores of the wind-blown Loch Linnhe. Now he could no longer ride in dumb endurance: he would have to act. He stopped, to put on his wig and in general attempt to present himself as a respectable gentleman. But as he rode up to the gates, he felt acutely the lack of his scarlet coat and symbols of his rank, by virtue of which he could formerly have commanded the guard. The fort was now a closed world to him. 

'Good afternoon,' he addressed the guard. 'Do you know if any prisoners have been taken into the fort today?' 

But the young guard shook his head. 'No, sir, none today.' 

Keith was surprised for a brief moment, but of course—the party of soldiers must be travelling by foot, and he, on horseback, had outpaced them. He thanked the guard and retired to a position with an overview of the road to the fort, and ate his supper. 

And thus began a period of waiting, which frayed Keith's nerves badly, since he could not be sure that he had made the right choice in coming to Fort William at all: though the soldiers had gone south, that might not be their final destination. And even if they were to come, Ewen might not be with them—for all Keith knew, he had been wounded during his capture, badly enough that he had bled out and now lay discarded and cold on some hillside. Keith dug his fingernails into his palms, to break this train of thought. He almost welcomed the distraction of the midges that otherwise made the Highland summer evenings so objectionable. 

Night fell. Aside from a lone messenger coming in from the north, and traffic between the fort and the small settlement beside it, which had already begun to spring up again after being razed to the ground by the fort during the siege, he had seen nothing. The weather was overcast, windless and mild, and when dusk obscured his sight of the road he retired behind a copse of trees and made his bed. 

Keith wrapped himself in Ewen's plaid and in the blanket, and pulled the plaid up over his head so that the midges would not get in. And it was then, surrounded by the scent and warmth of that plaid they had last slept under together in the abandoned croft near Ardroy, that Keith could not any longer keep his tears at bay. He curled up and sobbed helplessly, his breath coming ragged with it and his body aching with the physical lack of Ewen's arms about him. How could he have come to need him so, after only two short days? And perhaps they would never be in each other's arms again. 

Keith finally found oblivion in sleep, fitful and disturbed though it was. 

At dawn, he resumed his vigil. At midday, he spied a party of soldiers advancing along the road from the north, with one of the party tall and mounted and not in red. Keith hurriedly mounted and rode down to the road, as if headed north himself. As they drew closer, he was sure that the rider was Ewen, with his hands tied behind his back and the horse led by one of the soldiers. Keith felt some measure of relief: at least he could not be seriously injured, then, if he could ride, and moreover he had been allowed to ride, instead of being forced to limp along despite his injuries. 

Keith knew none of the soldiers, and saw no recognition in their faces. As he passed Ewen, he stole a glance at him. There was an ugly bruise on his face, as if he had been clubbed, but his eyes met Keith's with full awareness, and in that brief look, they both took heart. 

And then again, waiting: Keith knew well the slow grinding of the bureaucratic machine of the army. In the afternoon he approached the fort again, intending to ask the guard if he might speak to one of the officers, but as he neared the entrance he had a stroke of great good luck: through the door came the elegant Captain Ferrers, headed towards the settlement. 

Though he knew the meeting to be in his favour, Keith felt an extreme reluctance to approach him. He had indeed felt the lack of his previous position when he spoke to the guard at the fort, but that was as nothing compared to the hot shame which washed over him when he considered what Captain Ferrers, who had been on the board of his court-martial, must think of him now, especially considering his present errand. 

But for Ewen's sake, he must swallow his pride. He told himself that it could have been worse: his previous impression of Captain Ferrers, though brief, was as a competent and honourable man. 

'Captain Ferrers?' he said, intercepting him. 

'Yes, sir?' Captain Ferrers paused, and then his eyes widened. He hesitated, then said, '...Mr Windham?' 

'Yes,' Keith acknowledged, feeling the renewed sting of that appellation. 'I will not keep you long, Captain. I wonder if you would be so good as to provide me with information about a prisoner in the fort.' 

Captain Ferrers' expression changed, though Keith found it difficult to read. Was that disparagement in his eyes? Or might it be pity? 'I can perhaps guess to whom you refer. Mr Cameron of Ardroy?' 

'Yes,' said Keith. 'Do you know where he will be sent for trial? I wish to testify in his favour.' Which was his right under the law, damn it. 

'Of course, Mr Windham,' replied Captain Ferrers, in his polished manner. 'The prisoners gathered at the fort will be sent to London for trial. A ship will arrive to transport them thither, in a week's time.' 

It was not, then, to be Carlisle this time—well then, the road would be rather longer, but he would ride it nonetheless. 

'I am obliged to you,' said Keith. He did not relish his position as a suppliant to one who had stood in judgement over him, but he had one favour still to ask. 'Might I also ask if you would be so kind as to convey these two letters to Mr Cameron? They may be opened and read if you wish—they contain nothing that could not be said openly.' 

Keith had composed his own short letter during the afternoon, saying only that Lachlan was alive and had carried word, and that Keith would travel by Edinburgh and then come to testify for him at the trial. It was a cold and bare skeleton of what he truly wished to say to Ewen, but those sentiments he could hardly put into writing. But at the bottom, instead of signing the letter, he had sketched a heron standing by a lochside. 

'That will not be necessary,' said Captain Ferrers. 'I will take your word for it, and give him the letters for you.' 

'I am much obliged to you,' said Keith again, 'and I will not keep you longer from your errand.' 

Captain Ferrers hesitated, and then said, 'Perhaps you might wish to know that not everyone voted to deprive you of your commission. I, for one, did not.' 

He then took his leave, while Keith, rather off balance, hardly knew what he said in reply. 

His mind in a turmoil, Keith wondered whether Captain Ferrers had been the only one to oppose the sentence, and if he had voted to acquit, or advocated some other sentence instead. It would be in the court-martial minutes, of course, which he had no access to now, but which might certainly be a help in overturning the sentence. An eventuality, he sternly reminded himself, which was not to be relied upon. 

In the settlement, he stocked up on food and on oats for Lively and bought a piece of canvas for a make-shift tent, as well as sending a short letter to Miss Cameron with news of Ewen. The sky to the west was frowning with dark-bellied clouds, but there was no use in tarrying in Fort William: he could best help Ewen by leaving him and heading for Edinburgh. 

So Keith set off along the road north, but when he reached High Bridge, he hesitated. Should he head upstream into Glen Spean to the east, or north along the military road to Fort Augustus, and then across the Corryarrick? To be sure the former would be shorter and it did have a road, of sorts, but it was a muddy and dismal track that Keith had cursed when he went that way after escaping from Fassefern last year. No, he would take the military road: better to have firm gravel under his horse's hooves and proper bridges over the streams, and pay the penalty of a few extra miles. 

Lively was fresh after the rest, and he made good time, though the threatened rain eventually arrived: he could see it approaching him from the west like a dark wall that blurred the hills behind it, and then it was over him, driving hard with the wind. A flash of lightning momentarily illuminated the shores of Loch Lochy, with the deep rumble of thunder following a few seconds later. Keith passed the cleft that led up to Ardroy without seeing it, mutely enduring and with his head down. 

Presently it grew dark enough that the road would soon be difficult to follow, and Keith must needs stop for the night. He had some miles left to Fort Augustus, and could not help thinking with longing of the dry quarters of the fort. But even had he reached it, he thought he would rather die than beg for shelter there. 

The Highland village near Laggan, where Keith had nearly been captured on his first arrival in Lochaber, he now knew, as he had not then, to belong to the MacDonnells of Glengarry. He might perhaps have gone there to seek shelter, with Miss Cameron's letter to vouch for him, but Keith found he could not stomach it. The village must have been put to the torch or otherwise ravaged, and to ask the inhabitants to share what little they had with one who had but recently been part of the army that had pacified them—no. Keith had not relished the work, but he had done his part in it during his service in Inverness, when he had been in disgrace and kept his head down for fear of being dismissed from the service. 

No, his bond with Ewen was hardly a bond with all his clansmen and their allies. And yet, Keith was a changed man, compared to the cynical army captain who had first led a troop of recruits along the Great Glen a little more than a year ago. 

And so, belonging neither at the fort nor at the Highland village, Keith stopped by a small copse of trees and made what camp he could. The canvas, laid over a rope stretched between two trees and anchored by rocks, protected him from the driving rain, though his clothes had become almost wet through on the windward side. But with the plaid and blanket he was not cold, and at least the wind kept the midges away. He buried his face in the plaid and thought of Ewen, who he knew would infinitely rather make his bed in the wind and rain among his beloved hills, than be warm and dry in prison. 

Unlike last night, the thought of Ewen was to Keith this night more like a lifeline connecting them, or like a fire burning with steady purpose. And by the warmth of that fire he drifted into sleep, despite the inclement weather. 

The next morning dawned clear, the thunderstorm having blown itself out. Before setting out, Keith examined Lively, carefully checking hooves and legs for any sign of incipient lameness, for he would be heading over the Corryarrick pass and had no mind to be benighted there. But she was in excellent shape, and Keith blessed her strong endurance and good nature, having prioritised those qualities when he replaced the skittish but powerful stallion he had lost by Loch Oich side. Her name was not perhaps very fitting, but he had kept the one she had when he purchased her. 

He cut across country to rejoin the road after its detour to Fort Augustus, and spent the morning slowly but surely ascending and seeing the landscape grow steadily more barren. 

Presently he could no longer see the green and pleasant aspect of the Great Glen, or so it seemed to him at least by comparison, after a year in the Highlands. All round him was a hopeless, sterile, high land of rock stretching out in all directions, where the only green seemed to be a few blades of starved sedge. To the northeast he could see the even higher bulk of the grey Cairngorms, with their snow-topped peaks. And in all that lonely vista he could see or hear no trace of life, save the distant caw of a flying raven. 

Feeling his own insignificance, Keith shivered and drew his cloak about himself, though he was not cold. Having spent his entire adult life within the fold of the British Army, he was used to living in the company of other men, in what was, for all its dangers, a regulated, regimented life; but he was alone now, and would have to rely on his own inner resources for the long journey ahead of him. 

Then he chided himself: was not Ewen's plight much worse? Keith himself had a purpose, and was free to act. The road lay before him, the only sign of human presence in this barren land, and he followed it.


	5. Chapter 5

Five days later, having followed the road to its end, Keith had reached Edinburgh. The press of people and the stench of the morning's chamber pots emptied on the streets was a stark contrast to the lonely wilderness, and he could admit that in some ways it was hardly an improvement. But it had been a relief to sleep in a comfortable bed under a roof, and eat a proper meal. 

He knocked on the door of an attorney in the Canongate, gained admittance, and explained his business: that he was here on the recommendation of Archibald Cameron on a matter of the transfer of an estate. 

The man was of course a Jacobite, for he read the letter that Doctor Cameron had addressed to him and evinced no surprise at the proceedings. 

'I understand you have no knowledge of Scottish law, Mr Windham? I will accompany you to the relevant Government office and help you see to it that the deed is properly registered.' 

'I would be most grateful, sir.' Keith resigned himself to the attorney's assumption that he shared that gentleman's political creed. 

Successfully having concluded the business, Keith Windham was the owner of a Highlands estate, a condition he had never expected to be in. He sent a letter to Miss Cameron advising her of the registration of the deed, after which he had no further business in Edinburgh. 

Keith rode south, day after day, passing into happier climes where farmers were bringing in the hay and the corn stood ripening in the fields, and where the highest hill in sight was a gentle grass-covered mound where a lady might sit and draw the idyllic prospect before her. At times, to return to such a civilised land had been his most strongly held wish during his year in the Highlands. Now that it had been fulfilled, he found it was not, after all, what he most wanted. 

Ewen must now be on a ship bound for London, and if Keith had been a religious man, he would have prayed that the conditions on board were tolerable, and that the prisoners were not crowded below decks in the miserable conditions that so often bred sickness and death on such ships. Surely the passage would not be long enough for that. 

By the time Keith arrived in London, he had been acclimated by slow degrees through his journey, and so the busy streets seemed to him once more a state of normality, and the Highlands a distant dream of wilderness and impossible, forbidden joy. And yet, Ewen must be somewhere in the city now, and Keith had to find him. 

At Stowe House, he entered the stable and left his horse with a groom. 

'Mr Keith!' he heard a welcome voice say. 'I am very glad to see you—are you on furlough?' 

'Masters!' said Keith, smiling at the old stable-master, who had served his own father so well, and taught Keith himself to ride when he was young. 'It's good to see a friendly face after so long on the road. But no, I am not on furlough—I have suffered rather a misfortune. I have been court-martialled, for showing kindness to a prisoner.' 

Masters' face turned grave. 'I am very sorry to hear that, Mr Keith. But you will forgive me the familiarity of saying that I am sure you could not have acted other than honourably.' 

'I thank you. But I must see the Earl now, as soon as possible.' 

Keith entered the house with some trepidation. He dearly hoped the letter had reached his step-father, so that he would not have to break the news of his court-martial to him in person—he had had difficulty enough composing the letter. 

The Earl of Stowe was writing at his desk, but rose when Keith was shown in. 'My dear Keith, I am glad to see you.' 

'My lord,' said Keith, with a bow. 'Pardon my dress; I'm rather travel-stained, and have arrived directly from Scotland.' 

'Come, no need to be so formal. Let me call for refreshments,' and he rang a bell. 

When they were each seated with a glass of wine, the Earl said, with a worried expression, 'I have received your letter, and I was very sorry indeed to hear of your court-martial.' 

From another man, the words might have been a rebuke, but the Earl's tone was kind enough that Keith did not have to take them so. He was aware that he might have fared much worse in his mother's second marriage. 

Still, Keith flushed slightly with the shame of having been cashiered, whatever the possible extenuating circumstances, and he did not know if the Earl would consider that there had been any. He said only, 'Yes, my lord.' 

'Your letter only reached me the day before yesterday, but I have made some enquiries. But tell me more—it seems to me to have been a rather hasty proceeding? That might be in our favour in trying to get the sentence overturned.'

'Yes,' said Keith, 'it was a hasty proceeding; the Duke of Cumberland was passing through and it must have been he who called the court-martial together. He had a prior reason to resent me, and I believe the court minutes will show that the judge advocate called him to order for trying to unduly influence the other officers. And—I am very grateful indeed for any aid that you can give me, though I know it's unlikely the sentence will be overturned.' 

'Of course, of course,' The Earl waved this away. 'We are family, after all. And your information about the trial is potentially quite useful. I shall see if I can get hold of the minutes. Now, this man, this—Cameron, was it, who was the cause of it? Who is he?' 

_Only the love of my life,_ Keith thought to himself, but said cautiously, 'I would not say he was the cause of it. I exposed myself, through my own actions. I still believe I acted in the right, at least as regards my personal honour, but yes, my actions were on his account.' 

The Earl nodded, encouraging him to continue. 

'Cameron of Ardroy had captured me early in the war, and while I was under parole he treated me most honourably and with great hospitality and trust. And later, he had the opportunity to capture me again, yet he let me go. Being under such a debt of honour to him, I intervened to save his life when he was to be summarily shot, and when he was a prisoner I objected to the very poor treatment he got. He escaped while being transferred to Fort William—and I swear I had no part in his escape!—but I came upon him afterwards, and gave him food and aid, as he had been grievously wounded at Culloden. That is what broke me, of course. I should have turned him in, but I could not, when he had let me go before.'

'That is a remarkable tale,' murmured the Earl. He had never heard his step-son, whom he was used to regard as every inch the professional military man, speak so before. 'You must of course act as your honour dictates, though I am not surprised the Duke of Cumberland broke you for it. Well, I believe you have given me something to work with.' 

'There is more,' said Keith reluctantly. 

'Yes?'

'He is now here, in London. That is part of my hurry to come here—he was captured again and is now to stand trial. I mean to testify in his favour.' Keith could not prevent some part of his ardent purpose from showing in his manner. 

His step-father raised his eyebrows. "Well! But tell me, he is a Jacobite, is he not? And he was active in the war? Do you believe you can save him?' 

Hearing the Earl's doubts, Keith's heart fell. 'I do not know. Yes, he was an officer in the war, and I know he will not deny it. But my hope is that the jury may be lenient, given his honourable behaviour.' 

'That is indeed possible,' said the Earl kindly. 'He is lucky to have found such a friend as you.' 

Keith bowed his head, and struggled to control his expression. 'Well, I must go and refresh myself before supper. I thank you, for the counsel and for your efforts on my behalf.' 

At supper that evening, Keith arrived to find his mother and his step-brother also in attendance. 

His mother, exquisite as always in a blue silk gown with pearls, said, 'Keith! What is this I hear, that you have lost your position?' Her tone held all the reproach that the Earl's had not, or at least, Keith heard it so. He could never be certain what, in his mother's behaviour, was in his own perception of it, and what she intended, consciously or not, to convey. 

'Yes, mother.' Keith was in no mood to tell her the story, and so made some equivocating remarks. 'His lordship has promised to see what his influence can do.'

'I should hope so!' she said. 'Such a scandal—I do wish we could avoid it.' 

'Keith, I am so very sorry,' said Francis, his expression open and concerned. Keith had not seen his young half-brother, Lord Aveling, in two years, and in that time he had grown up into a young man, whereas Keith remembered him as still a boy. 

'Thank you.' Keith added in an undertone, 'I'll tell you more of it later, if you wish.' 

'Please,' said Francis. 'And if I should be able to assist you in any way, you have only to say.' Keith thanked him again. 

'But Keith, you must tell us of your adventures in Scotland,' said Lady Stowe. 'Did you see the Pretender's son? I hear he is quite tall and handsome.' 

'I have seen him, yes—in fact I was present at Glenfinnan when he raised his standard, for I was a captive of the Cameron clan then.' 

Keith saw Francis' eyes go quite wide, and remembered with fond affection the many times he had listened to Keith's stories of his campaigns. 

'It's true that he is tall,' added Keith, 'and I suppose he is not ill-favoured.' 

'Just like a man!' said Lady Stowe. 'Cannot you say more?' 

'Some ladies seem to forget that they are Whigs,' Keith said drily, 'upon the sight of handsome royalty.' 

Keith admitted to himself that, had his mother but known it, the thrust might apply equally to him, if one replaced 'handsome royalty' with 'a handsome clan chieftain'. But he was not about to enlighten her to that. And despite Ewen, he was still a Whig, damn it. 

Later in the evening, Francis knocked on Keith's door and was admitted. In that more private setting, Keith told him the story, or the parts of it that he was able to tell, and his half-brother listened with rapt attention. 

'You did the right thing entirely,' Francis declared, with the certainty of a young man who was not quite eighteen. 'How could you have abandoned your friend, owing him such a debt of honour?' 

'I'm glad you think so,' said Keith, 'even if Cumberland does not. But I must admit there is something in his accusation that I failed in my duty.' 

'Yes, but even if that's true, your honour must go before your duty!' And at the news that Keith's friend was even now in the city, Francis drew in a breath. 'How will you find him?' 

'I shall go to Newgate tomorrow, and to the docks,' said Keith. 'I cannot be entirely certain the ship has come in, though I think it must have.' 

'And then? What are your plans for the trial?' 

Here Keith had to admit that his plans were still vague, beyond his resolution to testify, for he had not sufficient knowledge of the law. 

But Francis said eagerly, 'I have a friend who studies the law; let me consult with him tomorrow, and he shall advise us as to the best course. Now tell me more of the details, so that I may lay the case before him.' 

Keith realised anew how much his half-brother had grown in his absence. And after that long lonely ride down from Scotland, to find himself with such support meant more to him than he could say. 

With a rush of gratitude, he said, 'Thank you, Francis, I shall be very glad of your help. Now, this is what I know.' 

***

Ewen Cameron was not at Newgate prison, though a number of other Jacobite prisoners were.  
One of the wardens advised him to search at the docks, where several prisoner transports held a considerable number of further Jacobites, since London's prisons could not cope with the large influx that was the result of Cumberland's repressive policies. And it was considered that they could not be tried in Scotland, for fear of provoking public opinion. Besides, Scottish juries might not convict them. 

But the court was, the warden assured him, doing their best to get through the prisoners at a rapid clip—there had not been very many executions thus far, though many were to be transported. This did not reassure Keith in the least, and he was gripped by a cold fear that Ewen might have been tried and sentenced already. But a consultation with a legal clerk relieved him of this fear, at least, though he was still apprehensive that the court's rapidity might lead to over-hasty judgements. 

At the docks in Woolwich, Keith's efforts finally bore fruit: at one of the prisoner transports, Ewen's name was on the list. Keith stared at it, hardly daring to believe that they were now separated only by the wooden planks of the hull, rising slimy and barnacled from the cloudy water of the Thames. The ship stank. 

'When is he to be tried, do you know?' Keith asked the warden in charge of the prisoners. 

That individual shook his head. 'Can't rightly say, sir. There are so many of these rebel wretches to get through.' 

'Would it be possible to expedite the process?' 

The man spread his hands. 'Many things are certainly possible, with the right...inducements.' 

Keith took his meaning entirely. 'Then I wish to get this man into Newgate prison as soon as possible.' 

'You understand that would not necessarily be easy?' the man began in a wheedling manner. 'There would be expenses not only here, but also at Newgate, and...' 

'Name your sum,' interrupted Keith impatiently. 

The man did, and Keith immediately agreed to it, to the imperfectly concealed delight of the warden, who had undoubtedly expected his inflated price to be haggled down. 

But Keith did not care to bargain for Ewen's life. 'I will give you half the sum now, and half when he is transferred. And I expect him to be there by tomorrow.' 

The warden actually professed to be hurt at Keith's lack of trust. 'Surely you see that I could never expect to do any business if I could not undertake what I promise?' 

'Nevertheless. And I will go down to see him first,' Keith declared. 

'You want to go into the hold?' the man exclaimed in disbelief. 

'I do,' said Keith inflexibly. 

'Well, on your head be it,' he muttered. 

With a gesture, he invited Keith to board by the gangplank, and led him to the ladder down into the hold. The stench rising from it turned Keith's stomach even before descending, and when he had, it was very nearly intolerable. He tried to breathe shallowly, but it hardly helped. 

The warden remained by the foot of the ladder, perhaps in an attempt to gain fresher air, while Keith ventured with mounting dread and pity down the dim length of the hold, picking his way past the limbs of the shackled prisoners. Keith had seen plenty of suffering on battlefields, but this sustained misery was something else, and he was appalled by it: men lying in their own filth, hardly stirring, and some, he was sure, never to move again. 

He had thought to find Ewen by his Cameron tartan, but as there were not a few of those, that proved impractical. But in the event, he did not need to struggle to recognise him: as he made his way back along the port side of the vessel, his gaze immediately caught on a man lying curled on his side against the curved planks of the hull. Keith could not have said what, in particular, attracted his gaze, since his scruffy face was in shadow, and his hair dull and matted. But he knew every line of him. 

'Pardon me,' he murmured, carefully nudging aside a man's leg to gain a foothold. 

Ewen's head jerked up at the sound of his voice, and their eyes met. For a long moment they said nothing, as Keith's heart contracted in pain and love and relief, mingled in equal measure. 

Then Ewen attempted to speak, paused to cough, then got out hoarsely, 'Keith. I knew you would come.' 

Keith bent down to take his hand and press it hard. 'Ewen. I'm getting you out of here. I'll see you tomorrow.' 

Ewen only looked at him as though he were water in the desert, then nodded, and laid his head back down on the planks as if he were too tired to hold it up. Keith reluctantly let go of his hand, stood, and headed for the ladder. 

'Very touching and all, I'm sure,' said the warden. Keith could have knocked him down, except that he represented Ewen's hope of salvation from this hell on earth. 

'I will return soon with your money, and expect to see him in Newgate tomorrow, sir,' said Keith coldly. 'Good day.' 

Returning to Stowe House, he reported his progress to the Earl, and that evening had another conference with his half-brother, across the table in the library. 

'You found him, then?' asked Francis. 

'Yes, in a prison ship,' said Keith briefly. 'But I have got him into Newgate, and will visit him tomorrow.' 

Francis looked upon his stony countenance as he said it, and murmured in concern, 'I hope indeed that he has not suffered too greatly. But come, I will tell you what my friend said.' 

'Please do.'

'First, your friend is a gentleman, and it's important that he appear as such during his trial. I assume his clothes—?' 

'Are filthy, and they are Highland dress besides,' said Keith, trying not to dwell on Ewen's wretched state. 'No, that will never do; I shall get his measurements when I visit him tomorrow, and see to it that he is properly clad. I had planned to do so already.' 

'Good.' Francis looked down at the notes he had made. 'Second, do you know how he means to plead?' 

'We didn't speak of it now, but I believe he would consider it dishonourable to deny his allegiance and his actions. He has said so before.' 

Francis looked troubled. 'That is a difficulty—if he pleads guilty, then there will be no trial. In fact it seems that the court discourages such pleas in capital cases, because it prevents them from hearing the full circumstances of the case, and thus choosing the appropriate punishment. It might mean the difference between his death and his life. Cannot you convince him not to do it?' 

'I will certainly do my very best,' replied Keith with a sinking heart, though he feared that he would come up against Ewen's considerable and stubborn sense of honour. 

'I hope you can convince him. Next, you must tell him that since he will not know beforehand what the witnesses or depositions against him may say, he must defend himself as best he can in the moment.' 

'If he will, in fact, defend himself,' said Keith grimly. 'Does your friend have any advice on my testimony?' 

Francis consulted his notes again. 'Having a witness to his good character and conduct is very important, it may make all the difference. And he thought your arguments good. But—your court-martial…' 

'...may throw a shadow on my own character as a witness.' Keith was nodding. He had not fully thought this out himself, but immediately grasped the difficulty, and it daunted him. He wondered, too, if his testimony on Ewen's behalf would influence the chances of his own sentence being overturned—but that mattered little to him, when weighed against Ewen's life. 

'I suppose there is no chance the prosecution will not know it,' said Francis doubtfully. 

Keith shook his head. 'No, for I cannot present myself as "Major Windham", and he will then ask why that is the case, if I was captured as a military officer.' 

'Yes.' Francis looked glum. 'Well, there is no help for it. I suppose you must also argue that your sentence was unjust.' 

There was silence for a space. 'I must begin to work on my speech, then,' said Keith, with more determination than assurance. 'Has your friend any other advice? And by the way, you must be sure to thank him for me.' 

'None, except that the time of a trial is sometimes decided on quite short notice. And yes, I will.' 

'Then I must keep a close watch. But I mean to visit him often, at any rate.' 

The two half-brothers, one young, fair-haired and uncommonly good-looking, the other older, dark and frowning, regarded each other across the candle-lit table. With an effort, Keith wrenched his thoughts from Ewen's plight, about which he could, after all, do nothing more tonight. 'I think we have done all we can, for now. But we have been speaking only of my own concerns—pray tell me of yours. After all, I have not seen you in two years.' 

And Francis called for a glass of claret for them, and they spoke of other things.


	6. Chapter 6

Though Keith knew that Ewen might not be transferred to Newgate until later in the day, nevertheless he could not help enquiring early, with no result. While waiting, he considered the difficulties of what to say during his testimony with a sense of déjà vu: this was the second time he had sat in a prison, considering a speech of defence, though he was not this time the prisoner. 

The bribed warden indeed proved true to his word, for in the afternoon two men unceremoniously brought Ewen in, hands shackled behind his back and stumbling as he crossed the threshold. A movement from Keith brought Ewen's attention to him, and their eyes met. 

'A prisoner from the ships for you,' one of them told the warden at the entrance. 

The warden wrinkled his nose. 'Cannot you sluice them off a bit? We don't want any gaol fever in here.' 

The man shrugged. 'Not paid for that.' 

'We'll enter him into the rolls, then. I suppose he has no money?' The warden eyed Ewen with distaste, consigning him mentally to the most squalid quarters of Newgate. 

Keith came forward. 'I shall be happy to pay for all his amenities.' 

The warden, pleased that this, despite his unpromising appearance, was to be a profitable prisoner, entered into negotiations with Keith for Ewen's bed and board and arranged that he should be able to wash off the stench of the ship. 

Meanwhile Ewen stood mute beside him, as if the effort of standing at all were all that he could muster. It struck Keith to the heart to see him so, and though he must of course suppress any exhibition of such emotion, he asked, 'Ewen, do you require a doctor?' 

Ewen hesitated. 'I am not feverish, at least. I believe I need fresh air and sustenance, that is all.' 

Keith wondered how his leg had fared, but did not enquire. Fresh air was too much to ask, but anything would be better than that hold. Keith thought with pain of the wind-blown hills that were Ewen's home, and how far removed he now was from that loch which brought him so much joy. 

'Very well. I'll return in the afternoon. We shall have to get you some clothes, and for that I need your measurements.' Keith turned to the warden. 'For I assume it will be possible to visit?' 

The warden, now that Keith had swelled his coffers, made no difficulties. And Ewen was taken into the belly of Newgate prison, there to remain until his trial. 

Keith ate, and came back. He would hardly call Ewen's assigned space comfortable, certainly not at the price Keith had paid for it, but considering the alternative, it was worth every penny. Ewen lay on the cot, looking pale and nauseated. 'I ate too much,' he said briefly. 

Keith suppressed his anger; it would not be helpful. 'Did they starve you, on the ship?' he asked quietly. 

'There was...not much food,' Ewen allowed. 

His hair was wet, so it seemed he had been able to wash at least perfunctorily, but since his clothes were the same, it had not helped much with the smell. All the same, Keith dearly wished he could offer him some physical comfort, at least to stroking the damp hair from his forehead, but he knew he should not. 

But it seemed Ewen could read at least some of his intent in his expression. 

'Keith,' he murmured. That was all he said, but the tone—Keith looked away, and then brought out his measuring tape. 

'You need proper clothes, for the trial,' he said, almost brusquely. 

Ewen, still lying prone on the cot, submitted to the measurement, though of course he was thinner than he should be. That done, Keith stood back. 

'Did you learn, in Fort William, what was the evidence that would be brought against you?' 

Ewen shook his head. 'I assume they will have depositions—I was with the army for nine months, and there must be witnesses. But it won't matter, for I will not deny the charge.' 

Keith's heart sank. He should perhaps have delayed this conversation until Ewen had gained some strength. But now that he had raised the matter...

'Ewen, I must beg of you not to plead guilty,' said Keith, quiet but intent. 'If you do, the court won't even hear my testimony, for there will be no trial.' 

'But—' interjected Ewen, his stubbornness coming to the fore even in his weak condition, but Keith overrode him. 

'Please, listen to me. It is not necessarily a matter of lying, as I understand it—I'm told the court actively discourages a guilty plea from the defendant in cases with a—' Keith stumbled over the phrase, '—capital punishment, for it prevents them from hearing all the evidence before the sentence is decided.' 

Ewen looked at him, pale and troubled. 

'I beg of you, tell me you will at least consider it,' said Keith. 

'I will promise that much,' said Ewen at last. 

'Thank you.' Keith bowed his head. 

They sat so for a while, then Keith said, 'I promised Miss Cameron I'd write to her when I had news. Do you wish to write your own letter?' 

Ewen hesitated, then shook his head. 'I'll write one later. For now, only say that I send my love—I'm sure you will tell her everything that is needed. And thank her for her letter to me in Fort William.' 

'I will.' 

'And—thank you for your note,' Ewen continued. 'I did not know you could draw.' 

'My note—oh.' Keith remembered the little sketch of a heron, and smiled at the thought. 'I'm no great talent at it. But it seemed appropriate.' 

'It sustained me, in prison,' murmured Ewen. 

They fell silent then, for the things they wanted to say could not be said. 

Finally, Keith said, 'I must go, but I'll come back tomorrow. We don't know when your trial will be, so you must prepare yourself. And—I hope you will be able to eat a little.' 

Ewen nodded, and they parted. 

A few days later, Keith brought clothes for Ewen. 'You are much improved, I find,' said Keith upon seeing him. 

'I am,' Ewen allowed. He was no longer so pale, and some of the spirit had returned to his eyes. 'Though—I think of my clansmen on that hellish ship, and others too,' he said quietly. 'How did you—?'

'Through the liberal application of bribes,' said Keith bluntly. 

'I thought so. Keith, I know I cannot save them,' said Ewen, his eyes haunted, 'but might I ask you to purchase bread and see that it reaches them? It would be something, at least.' 

'Yes, willingly,' replied Keith. 

'I don't ask you to pay for it; use my funds. Which you now control, of course—for I assume you had no trouble in Edinburgh?' 

'No, there was no trouble. But I've been thinking on that,' said Keith reluctantly. 'I should make a will, for surely you don't wish your estate to pass to my family, should anything befall me. And if you—' But Keith could not finish the sentence. 

Ewen was nodding. 'Yes, I've been thinking on it too: Archie is attainted, and his children will have nothing. If you would settle it on John Cameron, eldest son of Archibald Cameron of Lochiel, that will be well.' 

Keith nodded. 'I will see to it.' 

***

Each morning Keith both dreaded and hoped that the trial would take place, and the day finally arrived. He dared not leave the courthouse, since the hour was not determined, but hastily sent a note to Francis. Keith was glad of his support when he arrived. 

They sat through a succession of cases, on which Keith could not concentrate enough to follow, save for the occasional ominous sentence. 

And then— 'Ewen Cameron of Ardroy to the bar,' and Keith's head jerked up. 

He was so far from being an impartial observer that he could not judge how Ewen might appear to others, but his clothes and appearance were gentlemanly enough, at least. And he was calm, gazing at the jury and judges with dignity. 

Keith endured the short preliminaries with a sense of dread—he still did not know how Ewen meant to plead. When the reply came: 'Not guilty,' Keith could not help a short indrawn breath of released tension. 

'Thank you,' he breathed. 

As they had guessed, the prosecutor read several depositions: a notary in Maryburgh who had seen Ewen in during the siege of Fort William, a spy at Derby who reported to have seen him in Highland dress, with a broadsword and a white cockade, in the company of other officers of the young Pretender. 

Ewen listened to these with no comment, and when asked for his defence, said he wished to call a witness: Mr Keith Windham. 

Keith stood and made his way to the witness box, opposite Ewen and with the jury on his left. Having been sworn in, he found his hands were trembling, his mouth dry, affected as he had not been at his own court-martial. He met Ewen's gaze, but thinking of the possible consequences that might come of this day, he could not bear it, and looked instead to the audience. There, steadied by Francis' young face shining with confidence in him, he took heart. 

'My Lords, gentlemen of the jury,' he began. 'I served as an officer in the army and was captured by the defendant at the very beginning of the rebellion. I was alone and wounded, and I gave him my parole of honour, upon which he treated me most generously: I was a guest in his house and he had my wounds treated. I was then his prisoner for a week's time, during which time he took the most scrupulous care of me. I managed to escaped when my parole was up. 

'I met him a second time in Edinburgh, when he had the opportunity to capture me again, or, indeed, to kill me; however, he let me go. At all times when I have known him, the defendant's behaviour has been most honourable.' 

The prosecutor came forward, eyes narrowed. 'You say you _served_ in the army, Mr Windham. Have you then sold out?' 

'No,' said Keith calmly; he had been expecting this. 'I was court-martialled.' 

A murmur went through the audience, and the prosecutor raised his eyebrows. 'For what reason, Mr Windham?'

'For acting towards the defendant in the same manner as he did towards me. He was wounded at the battle of Culloden, and some days after I came upon a party of soldiers about to execute him, unarmed and without trial. I persuaded them to capture him instead, though to my great shame, he was tortured in prison. During his transfer to Fort William, he managed to escape: an event in which I had no part, but I happened on him in the hills afterwards. He was wounded and hardly a threat to anyone, and I repaid my personal debt of honour to him by letting him go, as he had once done for me. This was the reason for losing my commission.' 

The audience began to murmur again, louder this time, and a judge called for order. 

'I see,' said the prosecutor. 'I have no further questions.' 

Now, finally, Keith allowed himself to look at Ewen; a brief look only, before he left the stand. Back in the audience, Francis pressed his hand. 'You were _superb_ ,' he whispered. 

'Thank you.' Now, after the fact, Keith felt shaky again. 

The prosecutor spoke, urging the jury to convict: the accused was clearly guilty, even his own witness did not deny it, and an officer who had been cashiered was not much of a character witness. 

'What is your defence, Mr Cameron?' said one of the judges. 

Ewen straightened, raising his chin slightly. The expression on his handsome face recalled Keith to those first days at Ardroy, when he had told Keith that the Camerons had declared for the Prince. 

He spread his hands and simply said, 'My Lords, I have none. I pleaded 'not guilty' only because Mr Windham wished to testify for me, and a guilty plea would have prevented it. But I cannot in honour lie, nor do I wish to: I am guilty of the charge, and I am prepared to take my punishment for it.' 

Keith's low exclamation was drowned by the audience's response, and once again the judge called them to order. 

Francis leaned towards him and whispered, 'I think that was the best defence he could have made, and the perfect illustration of your testimony.' 

In truth Keith agreed—Ewen would not be the man Keith loved if he could lie on a matter that lay so close to his honour. 

But he still dared not hope. The jury huddled together, murmuring and gesturing, until one of them turned to the judges. 'My Lords, we find the accused to be guilty, with a recommendation of mercy for his good character.' 

Keith let out a breath. That was the best possible verdict, since it could not conceivably have been 'not guilty'. But he had not received a sentence yet. 

The judges conferred likewise, and then pronounced that the accused would be reprieved, but for the loss of his estates. The audience erupted, most into cheers, though some few were booing. Keith sat there in the midst of it, with eyes for only one person in the room. 

And then Ewen was hustled away from the bar, making way for the next case, and Keith was on his feet and clasping Ewen's hand so hard that his knuckles turned white. 

'I am free to go?' asked Ewen, turning to one of the legal clerks. 

'Yes, go on,' the man replied, waving him on and turning back to his notes. 

They were out of the door, and Keith awoke to his social responsibilities: he was rather anxious that they should like each other, being the two people he held dearest in the world. 'Ewen, this is my half-brother Francis Delahaye, Viscount Aveling.' And, turning to Francis, 'May I present my friend, Ewen Cameron of Ardroy?' 

Ewen made a small bow. 'My lord. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance.' 

'And I,' said Francis warmly, 'am very happy to meet my brother's friend. He has told me much about you. May I congratulate you, Mr Cameron? You were both very convincing in the defence.' 

'Thank you, my lord,' replied Ewen. ''Twas all on Keith's part—I would not call my speech, such as it was, a defence.' 

'Francis has been of great help with finding out the legal procedures,' said Keith. 

'I have but little knowledge of the law myself, but I have a friend who studies it,' said Francis. 

Ewen thanked him for his aid, and Francis continued, 'But, though I am glad the court had mercy on your life, I'm sorry you should have lost your estates.' 

'That's kind of you to say,' began Ewen, but then he caught Keith's eye, and Keith could not help the corners of his mouth turning up. Ewen's mouth likewise twitched, and Keith was sure they looked like two boys caught in mischief. 

Francis looked understandably bemused, and Keith looked round to see that they would not be overheard. 'He signed his estates over to me, before he was captured,' he explained in a low voice. 

Francis gaped, before he recovered and broke out in a delighted grin at the subterfuge. 

'It is a common thing, in the Highlands,' said Ewen. 'Though not, I suppose, to sign one's estate over to a man whose acquaintance one first made by taking him prisoner.' 

'No, I expect not,' said Francis, wondering. 

'But, if Keith has not already done so,' added Francis, 'let me invite you to stay at Stowe House. And you must have dinner with us tonight, of course.' 

Keith indeed had not presumed to do so, but he was very glad Francis had extended the invitation. Ewen accepted gratefully, and they took a carriage to Stowe House. 

'You will have the room next to Keith, Mr Cameron,' said Francis, after they had arrived. 'I'll leave you now, for I'm sure you wish to refresh yourselves before dinner.' 

'Thank you, my lord,' said Ewen. 

The servants were still making Ewen's room ready, so they both went into Keith's room. The door had barely closed when Keith found himself in Ewen's arms. 

'Oh, Ewen,' he breathed, with his face buried in his neck. He was too thin, and smelled still of the prison, but he was warm and solid and breathing, and would continue to be so, instead of being hanged and dismembered on the scaffold, or transported into slavery. 'I've missed you so.' 

_'Yes,'_ murmured Ewen, and then their lips met. And how could it feel so utterly right, that Keith's body should remember the precise angle that he had to tilt his head up for it? With a small hungry noise, Keith melted into the kiss. 

Then, at the sound of steps passing by in the hallway outside, he came to his senses. With an extreme reluctance, he pushed Ewen away. 

'Keith,' protested Ewen, looking bereft. 

'I know,' said Keith, his voice low. 'I know. But we _can't_ , not here. Remember your cousin, at Ardroy—I cannot have anyone surprise us here, not in my family's house.' 

'How would they take it, do you think?'

Keith shook his head firmly. 'I don't wish to find out.' 

Ewen nodded in acceptance. He squared his shoulders, straightened his coat. 

Keith cast about for a change of subject. 'Do you need more clothes, perhaps? I have a spare shirt that you could borrow; it is clean. I doubt if any of my other clothes would fit you, though.' 

'Thank you, the shirt would be useful, after I clean myself up,' said Ewen, just as determined to find a distraction. And then, looking beyond Keith to his bed, 'You have my plaid still, I see.' 

Keith flushed. 'I've slept with it every night,' he admitted. 

'Oh, Keith,' whispered Ewen. By his expression, he wished to lay Keith down on it now. 'I had nothing of yours, save your letter.' 

'The plaid warmed me, too, when I had to sleep in the hills.' Prudently putting more distance between them lest he succumb to the longing in Ewen's gaze, Keith went to fetch the pile of Highland clothing Ewen had been wearing on the ship. 'I had these cleaned for you, though you know you cannot wear them?' 

And there, they found a true distraction. 

'I wouldn't, in London. But how do you mean?' said Ewen, puzzled. 

No, how would he have learned it? 'The Government passed an act, early in August. It was a new disarming act, like the one in '25, but it also forbids the wearing of Highland dress.' 

'What? For anyone? And on pain of what punishment?' Ewen was still disbelieving, but beginning to be angry. 

'Yes, for everyone. I believe the sentence is imprisonment for some length of time, on the first offence, and transportation on the second.' 

Ewen's face had gone pale. 'The disarming I understand; it's only logical, seen from the Elector's point of view. Though of course I resent it. But this—' he shook his head in furious disbelief. 'And 'twill affect the Campbells and MacKays as much as anyone—what a way to repay their allies! Or are they exempt from it?' 

'Not that I know of,' said Keith quietly. 'Ewen, I am sorry.' 

'Well, it's hardly your fault. But—oh, I cannot bear it!' He looked away from the pile of clothes, with their Cameron tartan. 

'I believe the logic is to be harsh now, in order to avoid future uprisings.' 

Ewen looked up sharply. 'This will lead to such resentment that I hardly think the Government will make more friends in the Highlands!' 

'Perhaps the reasoning is that the leniency after the Fifteen and the Nineteen hardly prevented this rebellion.' 

'Keith, do you actually support this policy?' Ewen was angry now, his blue eyes flashing. 

'I didn't say that!' retorted Keith with some heat. 'I was merely trying to understand it.' 

Ewen narrowed his eyes. 'To transport someone into slavery for the wearing of their ordinary clothes, when they may have no others! I cannot believe you would make excuses for that.' 

Keith took a deep breath. 'Ewen. I have only served abroad, before this, fighting other professional armies. And this past year...it has been civil war, and I've never seen anything like it. At Culloden—I saw the French troops treated well, but your clansmen were slaughtered when they lay wounded on the field. It was on Cumberland's orders, but there were Scotsmen in our army who were glad to do the slaughtering. Neighbour against neighbour…' 

Keith shook his head, and tried to gather his wits. 'Ah, I don't know where I am headed with this. I hated Cumberland's pacifications, and I hope I never serve in such a war again, if indeed I am ever to serve again. I've no wish to deprive your clansmen of their plaids, and I would be very sorry never to see you in yours again.' 

Ewen had listened intently to his words, and with one of his generous changes of mood, he said, 'Keith, I'm sorry I lashed out at you. Will you forgive me? Ay, I was angry, and still am, but not at you.' 

'Yes, of course I forgive you. I don't wonder that you are upset.' 

Ewen smiled wryly. 'We lost the war, I know it. And you...you are a Whig, and I know that, too, and yet I love you.' 

Keith raised an eyebrow. 'Is that my greatest flaw, as a lover?' 

'I have not discovered any others, so it must be,' said Ewen, the corner of his mouth turning up. 'But Keith, I do not expect your allegiance to change, just as you must not expect mine to do so.' 

He took Keith's hand and lightly kissed his fingertips, since embraces were forbidden him. 

'No, my dear,' replied Keith. 'You are an inveterate Jacobite, and I know it. If nothing else, your defence today would have proved it.' 

'Which reminds me, I must prepare for supper. What should I expect from your family? Aside from your brother, of course, whom I like very much.'

Indeed, who could fail to like Francis? 'My step-father is a good man. My mother…' Keith hesitated. 'She is a lady of society, you might say. I doubt you will have met her like before, at least in the Highlands. Or perhaps you have, in Paris—I do not know what circles you moved in there.' 

'I was presented at Versailles, so I do have some experience of high society,' said Ewen. 'I shall endeavour not to make a fool of myself.' 

'I didn't mean that you might,' Keith protested. Though privately he wondered at it: Ewen at Versailles. To be sure, Keith had seen him in satin and powder in Edinburgh, and very handsome he had been too, but Keith had some difficulty reconciling that image with the tartan-clad Ewen he had known, among his beloved hills. 

They parted, and came separately to the dining room, Ewen still limping from the wound in his thigh. As no one could fault Ewen's manners, and the Earl, for Keith's sake, was kind to him, the evening progressed well, and Francis's lively conversation was a welcome contribution. To show Ewen to his best advantage, Keith good-naturedly told the story of his rout at High Bridge and subsequent capture, which with the eventual victory in the war had lost its initial sting. 

Lady Stowe had shown but little interest in her first-born son's friend during his incarceration, not having bothered to wish Keith good luck on learning of his existence and the plight he was in. But the tall, broad-shouldered young man now before her was quite a different proposition: his exotic origin was tempered by his evident good breeding, but most of all, Lady Stowe was a connoisseur of male comeliness and could say with certainty that he was the finest piece of manhood she had seen in years. 

Keith had been engaged in conversation with his step-father and so did not at first notice that his mother had likewise engaged Ewen, until he heard her sweet voice saying, '...and how you must have suffered!' 

Keith pricked up his ears in alarm, even while replying to his step-father's query. 

Ewen was replying, 'It is nothing to signify, my lady; others have suffered worse.'

Lady Stowe leaned very slightly towards him. 'Tell me, do you have a wife? For if you do, I am sure she must be languishing for you.'

'No, my lady, I am not married.' Ewen's voice was faintly puzzled. 

Keith had never in his life felt so mortified. Her conversation, taken a sentence at a time, might be innocuous enough, but he had seen his mother at work throughout his youth, and her aim was crystal clear to Keith. He must stop her, and do it now. In something of a quandary, given that the Earl was even now speaking to him, he happened to meet Francis' eyes. To his surprise, he saw in them an awareness of what their mother was doing, and a similar, though understandably not as strong, aversion to it. Yes, his brother had grown up. 

Francis turned to Ewen. 'Mr Cameron,' he said, 'I heard you mention that you have spent time in Paris. How did you find that city, compared to London?' 

Thus diverted, the conversation took a more innocuous turn, and Keith, much relieved, gave Francis a grateful look. Seething with resentment towards his mother, he resolved never to let her alone with Ewen. The sole mercy of it was that Ewen seemed not to recognise her attempt at seduction for what it was, and Keith fervently hoped he never would. 

Considering the reputation of the French court, Keith wondered how he had been able to maintain such an obliviousness to his own considerable attractions, and was suddenly intensely curious as to how many young French noblewomen had managed to get him into their beds, or had tried and failed to do so, before he met Alison Grant. Well, he could hardly ask. 

The dinner drew to an end, but before they parted, the Earl took Keith aside. 

'There are several influential gentlemen whom I wish to interest in your case, and I've invited them to dinner tomorrow. If you attend, and they could hear you make your case directly, I believe it would help. Perhaps your friend might attend, as well, now that his trial is over—his manners lend credence to your story, I think.' 

'Yes, of course,' said Keith, and reluctantly continued, 'I've also considered that I might write to Colonel St Clair of the Royals, in Flanders. I believe he did not look unfavourably on me before, though I don't know whether he will exert himself on my behalf now.' 

'That is a good thought,' said the Earl. 

Pausing in the empty hallway outside their rooms to speak, Keith mentioned the dinner to Ewen. 

'I will of course stay away or attend, whatever you think might best help your chances.' Ewen smiled ruefully. 'Keith, I doubt if I will ever have the opportunity to repay all that you have done for me, but I'll do what I may.' 

Even if Keith could have spoken freely, he was not sure that he could have expressed himself adequately on that subject. Finally he said, in a low voice, 'I found the service to be its own reward.' 

In his bed that night, Keith for once did not sleep under the plaid, since the man it was to remind him of was lying so close on the other side of the wall. It was his own prudence that kept them apart, but now that he had, all too briefly, held Ewen in his arms again, he found it difficult not to continue in his mind where that embrace would inevitably have led. 

Finally, Keith took himself in hand and found relief from at least one portion of his desire, though the longing to feel Ewen's body against his own could not be so easily quenched.


	7. Chapter 7

Keith's first inkling of the notoriety that awaited him came the second morning after the trial, when the Earl of Stowe, who was accustomed to read a range of newspapers in the morning, exclaimed and handed _The London Evening Post_ over to Keith. 'Look, there's an article on Mr Cameron's trial.' 

Keith read it, with Ewen leaning over one shoulder and Francis over the other. It was, he supposed, correct in its essentials, though somewhat exaggerated, but then, that was in the nature of a newspaper article. 

'Well, he said, 'at least it seems somewhat sympathetic towards us.' For the article mentioned as well Keith's court-martial and its connection to Ewen's trial. 

'Yes, it seems so,' said the Earl. 'I don't think it will hurt your case.'

'You must both have been distracted,' said Francis, 'but the audience showed rather a lot of interest during the trial, and it seemed to me that most of them were sympathetic.' 

Keith had only vague memories of this. 'Well, I suppose the newspapers do keep an eye on court cases—I doubt it will have any consequences.' 

In the afternoon, Keith arranged to have Ewen examined by the family doctor. He prescribed rest above all things—he must not overexert the leg—but he also offered to refer Ewen to a good surgeon, who might further examine the leg and also perhaps suggest some further course of treatment. 

The dinner that evening went as well as could be expected, though Keith was rather wrung out by the end of it—he was no stranger to conversation and polite company, but the stakes were high, and his pride did not easily suffer the currying of favour that this endeavour demanded. 

Not feeling entirely at home among the politicians, where his step-father was more in his element, Keith had been most gratified by the appearance of Sir Peter Halkett, lieutenant colonel of Lee's 55th, one of the officers captured at Prestonpans who had, unlike most of his fellows, refused when Cumberland had enjoined them to break their parole. 

As he said, Cumberland was master of his commission, but not of his probity and honour. He shook Keith's hand, and after the painful experience of his court-martial, it meant more to Keith than he could say to speak with an officer of his own mind, who thoroughly disapproved of Cumberland's disregard of the internationally accepted military code of honour. 

Keith was still not sure whether Ewen's appearance had bettered his chances, but he thought they had not harmed it. He was undeniably a Jacobite, but a Jacobite who had been tried and reprieved, and had been humbled first by prison and then by the loss of his estates. Not that Ewen disavowed his allegiance—Keith would never ask him to—but neither did he proclaim it, and his undeniable good breeding lent credence to Keith's story. 

Keith was quietly amused to note that the ladies at the dinner, like Lady Stowe, favoured Ewen with their attention. His tall and handsome appearance seemed to exert an irresistible charm that was only strengthened by the air of romantic suffering suggested by his limp and by the imprisonment which had rendered him still a little pale and thin. 

Ewen conversed with them all agreeably, and Keith took a certain amount of secret pleasure from knowing that none of them would gain anything more than polite conversation for their efforts, because Ewen was _his_. But, however, he could never show anything of it in public, which somewhat tarnished his satisfaction. 

The next day, to their surprise, brought another newspaper article, this one in the _Daily Post_ , which vociferously argued against the first one. Phrases such as 'unnatural rebel, deserving only to be shot' and 'traitor to his country' were bandied about, the one, of course, referring to Ewen and the other to Keith. 

Keith read it with distaste, though he considered it beneath his dignity to take much notice of it. The debate continued over the next couple of days. The piece which Keith considered the best of the crop, an essay in the _Old England Journal_ , used the trials to discourse on personal honour as it related to military service, and the 'importance of that good faith, to which an enemy as well as a friend is entitled, and without which war becomes butchery; and its seat only the larger charnel-house of death.' Keith could not have expressed it better himself, and hoped Cumberland read it and choked on his breakfast. 

It seemed that both their trials had tapped some unmet need for debate. The English public, or at least the Whiggish majority of it, had enthusiastically egged on the harsh and bloody measures against the rebels when the Young Pretender's army was in England and no one knew which town his terrifying Highlanders would invade next, and when they had just been defeated at Culloden. But now that the rebels were no longer a threat, it seemed that some in that same public were rather glutted with blood and suffering, at least when the potential victim was someone as presentable as Ewen Cameron; and moreover, could sympathise with an officer who had returned an obligation to an honourable enemy. And of course, there were those officers, though few, who had from the beginning publicly objected to Cumberland's policies. 

Keith penned no contribution to the debate himself, though he was several times sought by journalists. He did not much enjoy it, but he answered their questions in as neutral a manner as he could, and used their attention also to urge that measures be taken to alleviate the suffering on the ships full of Jacobite prisoners that were still anchored along the Thames. 

Since much of it was positive, Lady Stowe seemed rather to enjoy the attention shown to her older son, and through it, to her, and used her extensive contacts in London society to further argue his case. Keith had to admit that whatever his relationship with his mother might be, she was a formidable force in society when she cared to exert herself. 

Almost a fortnight after the trial, Keith sat in his rooms with Ewen in the chair beside his, examining the newspapers for the latest developments. They did not spend much time alone—Keith found it easier to ignore that ever-present yearning to touch him when in the company of other people. But, equally, it would have seemed strange if two friends should never be in one another's company. 

'I wonder if Aunt Marget has received word of the trial yet,' said Ewen softly, his eyes seeming to be far away. 

Keith did not answer the question, since he could not, but rather addressed the sentiment that seemed to lie behind it. 'Are you longing for home?' he asked, in an equally low voice. 

'A little,' admitted Ewen. 'And my tenants—I don't know that I could do more to protect them than my aunt could, but…' He trailed off, with a wry smile. 'I suppose they are not even my tenants now, in the technical sense, but they hardly care who is on the property deed.' 

'We can go back, if you want,' said Keith. 

Ewen looked startled. 

'The King will overturn my sentence, or he will not. I doubt my further presence can affect the outcome, especially as the debate has taken on a life of its own.' 

'And you would come back with me to Ardroy? I thought you might want to stay with your family.' 

'I'll miss Francis. But otherwise? Unless and until I am reinstated, which I do not count on, I will go where you go.' Keith reached out to briefly brush their fingers together, in one of the small touches which they allowed themselves and which, in the absence of those embraces they both longed for, had taken on such significance to them. 

'Since you offer, yes.' Ewen's gaze was warm on Keith. 'Let us go back to the Highlands.' 

'I rode, on my way down,' said Keith. 'But I don't think your leg could take such sustained exercise.' 

'You're probably right,' conceded Ewen reluctantly. 'But going by stagecoach hardly appeals to me.' 

'No, indeed. I'll see if there are any ships bound for Edinburgh, or perhaps Inverness.' 

By good luck, he found a merchant ship leaving for the latter town in a couple of days, and secured them places as passengers. Keith was rather reluctant to explain his departure to his step-father, since the strength of his attachment to Ewen was hardly a reason he could give. But the other conceivable reason—his ownership of Ardroy, which he had not yet mentioned to the Earl—rather presupposed that attachment, as well as skirting the edges of the law. Well, it would have to be done. 

Seeking out the Earl the next day, Keith told him, 'I must tell you that I plan to depart in a few days—I am accompanying Mr Cameron back to Scotland.' 

'Indeed?' said the Earl, surprised. 'Would you not prefer to await the results of our petitions?' 

Keith reluctantly explained the circumstances of the Highland estate that now, at least in name, belonged to him. If Keith's step-father had been surprised before, he now looked astonished, and Keith could not blame him. 

The Earl was silent for a while, then said, 'Well. Your mother has told me about the circumstances of your naming: that your father had a dear friend from Scotland named Keith, who died in battle. I'm glad that your Scottish friend has had a happier end, and it gives me hope for the country that such a friendship can be forged across the bitter lines of war. I will forward any missives to you.' 

Keith bowed his head, deeply grateful for his step-father's acceptance. 

A few days later, he and Ewen took their leave. Keith thanked his mother for her efforts on his behalf, and took a fond farewell from Francis, with mutual promises to write. Keith was gratified by the warmth of Francis' farewell to Ewen, as well. 

Keith was not overfond of sea voyages, though he tolerated them as an occasional necessity, and for a mercy had no susceptibility for sea sickness. On board ship, they had even less privacy than at Stowe House, and could hardly even converse out of earshot of the crew and other passengers. 

Considering the risk of autumn storms, they made good time, and after less than a week the ship stood in from the Beauly Firth into the mouth of the River Ness, passing the shamefully surrendered Fort George and coming in to dock at Inverness. They disembarked into a town that was not now the miserable place it had been after Culloden—to be sure there were redcoated soldiers present, but of the open brutality in the streets, the suffering of the prisoners, there was now little trace. Keith supposed the prisoners had all been shipped south. As he knew, Ewen had not seen the town in that state, and Keith had no wish to tell him of it. 

The late evening seemed determined to show the Highlands to their best advantage, with the sky a slowly deepening blue, shading into violet and pink to the west, over lands that were, in comparison with the barren heights, fertile corn-producing fields. Though in the distance loomed the ever-present peaks of the hills, nameless to Keith. 

Though it was late, they found a room at an inn near the harbour. Closing the door behind them, Keith realised that it was the first real privacy they had had in rather a long time, and he felt his heartbeat speed up. 

'This door has a lock,' he observed in a low voice. 

Ewen was hanging his cloak on the wall, but he met Keith's eyes, entirely taking his meaning. 'So it does.' 

Keith turned the key. 'Can you be quiet?' 

Ewen advanced, until they were only a foot apart, but not touching yet. 'I shall endeavour to do my best. Can you?' 

Keith looked at Ewen in the warm lamplight, that brought out the red and gold highlights of his hair, and closed the last step that separated them. 'I shall have to be.' 

They had practised restraint for so long that the merest touch seemed to them intimate. Ewen's hand gently curling round the back of Keith's neck set a shiver running through him, and as their lips met it seemed impossible that such a thing should be allowed them. As Keith deepened the kiss, Ewen made a soft little sound of utter satisfaction, as if all were now right in the world. 

Considering the frustrated nights he had sometimes spent, Keith had thought they might be quick about it, now that no barriers stood in their way, but no—that first kiss was drawn out until Keith's whole body was quietly thrumming with desire. 

When they finally broke it, he slowly and wordlessly began to unbutton Ewen's coat. They stripped off coats, waistcoats, cravats, until only their breeches and the thin fabric of their shirts stood between them. He laid his hand on Ewen's chest, feeling the warmth radiating from it, the insistent beating of his heart. Keith's breath was coming quick and shallow. 

'Those beds are rather narrow,' murmured Ewen. 'Shall we put them together?' 

Once they had done so, Keith could not resist pushing Ewen down on them, straddling him and twining his hands in his hair, which Keith had long since pulled out of its queue, and kissing him most thoroughly. 

'We're still clothed,' observed Ewen somewhat breathlessly, when they came up for air. But his smile belied his objection, and Keith kissed him again, grinding down on him with his full weight. They both groaned at the contact, then broke off simultaneously to hush each other, though in truth the noise had not been overloud. 

'This will be rather a challenge,' whispered Ewen, laughing a little. 

'Yes,' replied Keith ruefully. He sat up to strip off his shirt, breeches and stockings, and Ewen did likewise. Then, pressing Ewen down again for further kisses, Keith lost himself in the sheer physical sensation of Ewen's eager naked body against his, drawing out what might easily have been finished with a few firm strokes. 

At the last, Ewen lay back, gasping, 'I need—please.'

And Keith, who might have taken this opportunity to repay the teasing that Ewen had subjected him to in that croft at Ardroy, found that he could not, after all, deny him. 

'Remember to be quiet,' murmured Keith, then gave him those firm strokes, leaning down to kiss him, and Ewen reached up to hold his head in place and hungrily kiss him back, so that when he came, his low cut-off moans were muffled by Keith's mouth. 

Ewen gave a last sigh of pleasure and lay pliant and sated underneath him. Keith, who had been on the edge even before that, only needed a few hard thrusts against Ewen's now slick body to follow him, his breath coming harsh and open-mouthed as he struggled not to cry out with the overwhelming release of it. 

Afterwards, Ewen's hand came up to gently stroke his neck and his short-cropped hair. 'You were quiet,' he noted, a smile in his voice. 

'Mmm,' Keith grunted, not quite verbal yet. Their chests pressed close together, he could feel Ewen's heartbeat still galloping fast, like his own. Making an effort, he muttered, 'Am I too heavy?' 

'No,' Ewen assured him. 'I like it.' 

Their breathing gradually slowing, Keith could feel himself beginning to drift off, and he stirred and got up, to find a handkerchief before he was too muddled by sleep to do it. 

Ewen, likewise half-asleep, protested, 'Keith, do not say we should move the beds apart! I _will_ sleep with you tonight—I've wanted it so. ' 

'No, no,' Keith reassured him. 'I couldn't bear it, either. I only wanted to clean us up a little.' 

He did so, and they got underneath the covers and sorted their limbs out to their satisfaction, until Keith was lying with his head on Ewen's shoulder, their legs tangled together. 

_'Caidil gu sèimh, mo chridhe,'_ murmured Ewen sleepily, and kissed the part of Keith's head that was nearest to him. 

Keith poked him in the ribs, conveniently close. 'I hardly speak Gaelic—I hope you're not calling me names.' 

Ewen laughed a little. 'No—or not ones that you would mind, I hope. English doesn't have enough endearments.' 

'What, then?'

'Sleep well, my heart.' And Keith returned the sentiment, and was soon sleeping very well indeed, though he was hardly used to sharing a bed, at least in so close an embrace. 

Towards the early morning, he woke to find Ewen hard and insistent against his hip, seemingly still asleep, though Keith's stirring woke him, and they simply reached for each other with greedy hands and mouths to slake again that renewed desire which there was now no reason to suppress, save the need to do it quietly. 

Keith was awakened yet again in the late morning by a ray of sunlight which had found its way through the window, shining full on his face. With a grunt, he closed his eyes again and pulled the sheet over his head, but then sighed and sat up. Ewen, still asleep, was lying with his limbs all spread out and the sheets half off, but he, too, woke when Keith stirred. 

'Good morning,' he said. 

'Yes, it is,' said Keith, reaching out to touch him, because he could. 'Breakfast?' 

'If there is any left—we have slept quite late, I think.' 

After moving the beds back to their original placement, they descended the stairs to find that there was breakfast left still, and they discussed what needed to be done before their departure to Ardroy. Keith, however, had his private thoughts on the latter, which he did not voice until they were back in their room. 

'Ewen, I do not find one night in a bed with you to be enough,' he said. 'I want more.' And, though they were alone, he stepped close and whispered in his ear just what he wanted Ewen to do to him. 

Ewen, rather flushed, said that he would do his best to oblige him, and that one day more or less would of course make no difference in reaching Ardroy. 

That settled, they went out on the necessary errands. The sunny morning had passed into rainy showers that came in from the west, and they arranged to hire horses for the ride south. Ewen also arranged for a mule carrying sacks of meal, saying that it was best to begin to stock up for the coming winter, which would be difficult no matter the weather. And it would be a poor repayment of his tenants' loyalty in following him to war, if he let them starve over the winter—no, they must be provided for. 

Keith saw again the ways in which his own army life was different from Ewen's life—to be sure Keith was responsible for his company, when he was a captain, but Ewen, though his name was not currently on the deed, was tied so strongly to his place on earth and to his tenants, who had most likely lived there for generations. Keith liked to see in him that care and steadiness and responsibility, and was glad he had not kept him in London. 

That evening, they turned the key in the lock with the same sense of awareness as the night before. 

'Ewen, I should perhaps ask you whether this is something you wish to do,' said Keith, his voice quite low. 'It is, after all, a capital crime. I will hardly insist on it, if you don't want to take the risk.' 

'Keith, I do wish it. In fact, I have been thinking of it to distraction today—I'm surprised I managed to run any errands.' 

'That makes two of us,' said Keith. 'Well, then. We should be safe enough here, if we're quiet.' 

He took out the jar of saddle oil that he had purchased for the purpose, and began efficiently to strip off his clothes. 

'You know I haven't done this before,' said Ewen, beginning to do likewise. 'How do you want me?' 

'Well, I've never done it either,' replied Keith. 'But I have been thinking on it. The beds, I think, would rather creak at any more...vigorous activity than yesterday's. So...like this, perhaps?' 

Fully naked by now, he knelt down on the floor by the bed with his legs spread apart, bracing his arms against it, and looked up at Ewen. 

'Yes,' said Ewen, rather distracted from his own undressing at the sight. 'That would certainly seem to...yes.' 

Keith, thinking ahead, took a pillow from a nearby chair for his knees, and one for Ewen, too. 

As Ewen knelt down behind him, Keith shivered. He half-turned for a kiss, and felt against his hip that Ewen was quite ready. 

'Here,' he said, handing him the saddle oil. 

'Thank you,' said Ewen, taking the jar, but continuing doubtfully, 'But I do wonder...is this actually possible?' 

Keith snorted. 'You are substantial, I agree, but I hardly think the act would be forbidden if it were impossible.' 

Ewen began to laugh, then conceded, 'Your logic is convincing, to be sure. I shall try it with my fingers first and see how that answers.' 

Keith, his pulse speeding up in anticipation, listened to the small sounds of Ewen opening the jar. 

Then, a pause. 'I should trim my nails,' said Ewen, a frown in his voice, 'so that I don't hurt you. I beg your pardon, I didn't think of it before.' 

Keith let out the breath he had been holding, laying his head down on the bed and listening to the sound of Ewen rummaging for a small knife and then using it, feeling suddenly impossibly fond of him. 

As he knelt down again, Ewen kissed the side of Keith's neck. 'Ready?

'I've been ready these ten minutes,' said Keith. 

'Oh, have patience with me—I am new at this,' Ewen reminded him. 

'Yes, of course—' began Keith, but then gasped as Ewen's slick fingers insinuated themselves between his legs. As one of them began to press inside him, he felt it as shockingly intimate. 

Ewen, shifting to Keith's side so that he could see his expression, asked, 'Yes?' 

Keith nodded. 'Yes.' 

'And this?' 

Keith nodded again, flushing a little—having Ewen gazing at him so closely while he was doing this was even more intimate. He looked at Ewen's other hand resting on the bed beside him, thinking of those strong calloused fingers inside him. So they proceeded by question and response until, as Ewen's fingers found some new angle, Keith's body made the response for him and he gave a startled exclamation. 

'Did I hurt you?' asked Ewen, holding still. 

Keith shook his head. 'No, quite the reverse. Ewen, I think I'm ready.' 

'Very well.' The feeling then of those fingers sliding _out_ of him was another new sensation. 

By means of determination on both their parts, and copious amounts of oil, they had some while later accomplished that which Ewen had doubted to be possible, though Keith, panting with the effort, had to admit to feeling slightly overwhelmed. 

'Hold still,' he ordered, and Ewen obeyed. He wrapped himself round Keith's back, and Keith could feel him trembling slightly. 

'How does it feel?' asked Ewen. ''Tis no shame, to give it up if you don't like it.' 

'Let me get used to it, and we shall see. Do _you_ like it?' 

Ewen let out a shaky breath. 'Yes,' he admitted, then added stubbornly, 'but that is of no moment, if you don't.' 

Keith felt again that surge of fondness for him, and coupled with it, an utter trust. Ewen, true to his word, held still as Keith began, experimentally, to move a little, and discovered gradually the pleasure in it as the first slight discomfort abated. 

Eventually he grew frustrated with his limited range of motion. 'Please—give me more.' 

'Oh, I thought you would never ask,' said Ewen, and gave him what he wanted. Though Keith had been enjoying himself already, that first thrust, penetrating him fully, sent such a jolt of pleasure through him that he cried out with it, his hands clenching at the bedcovers. 

Ewen immediately froze. 'Are you—'

 _'Yes,'_ Keith got out, 'Go on or I— _oh!'_

Ewen did not further frustrate him by stopping, and Keith braced himself to take it, and tried to muffle against the bed the rather too loud noises he could not help making. But he was beyond caring. Ewen reached round to take hold of him, but Keith, protesting, managed to convey that he would not last if he did. 

'And you think I will!' With some further disjointed complaints about Keith's unreasonably high expectations, Ewen nevertheless began to stroke him. 

Keith felt it building, the inevitability of it, and then he was convulsing round that hard length inside of him, again and again, while Ewen kept moving, wringing every last shred of pleasure from him. Then Ewen's rhythm faltered, and Keith, beginning almost to slide to the floor, felt Ewen sling an arm round him to hold him up, and with a few hard thrusts Keith felt him find his release, his arm tightening about Keith. 

They were both dripping with sweat, the edge of the bed the only thing holding them up. Ewen's breathing was still harsh in his ear, but he made an interrogative little noise. 

'Mmm,' Keith confirmed. 'That was...something,' he continued, somewhat inanely. He felt Ewen slip out of him as he moved to take his weight off Keith. 

'Indeed,' murmured Ewen in agreement. Then he moved his hand down Keith's back to slide two of his fingers once more into that slick opening. Keith involuntarily clenched round him, moaning into the bed in one last aftershock. 

Ewen made a satisfied, or indeed smug, little noise, but he had perhaps earned it. 

Keith laid his head on the bed, still catching his breath, while Ewen took a handkerchief, wet it, and handed it to Keith to clean up. Then Keith heard him catch his breath as he stood, and turned. 

'Ow,' said Ewen, stretching his leg. 

'Oh, your leg! I am sorry—I should have thought of that.' 

Ewen shook his head, looking a little rueful. 'I didn't notice it until afterwards—it's only a cramp. And it was worth it.' 

Keith stood on somewhat shaky legs. 'Come to bed, dear.' 

And Ewen did.


	8. Chapter 8

The morrow saw them fetching their hired horses, not particularly early in the morning. Keith, who was somewhat feeling the effects of last night's activity, tried to conceal it from Ewen, but he happened to see Keith's small grimace on mounting. 

He began to apologise, but Keith rolled his eyes. 'Don't you dare—I asked for it. And besides, you do not regret it.' 

Ewen, smiling a little, conceded that perhaps he did not. 

The clouds hung low, but did not quite rain on them as they rode out of Inverness, following Wade's road south along the rather placid course of the River Ness, fringed with willows and with birches just beginning to turn yellow with the season. With the slow pace of the mule, they would be two days to Fort Augustus. 

Keith saw Ewen looking up to his left, towards the place which carried the weight of so many deaths and so many horrors for the living. Keith himself had thought it the worst battlefield of his thirteen years' career, and he could not imagine what Ewen's memories must be—he carried the reminder on his body, of course, but the mind must have its own wounds as well. 

Keith said nothing, but he nudged his horse nearer Ewen's, and reached out his hand to briefly press his. Their eyes met, before Ewen turned again to look up at that ill-fated moor. 

They rode in silence for some while, as the valley narrowed and the water of the river widened towards the long narrow expanse of Loch Ness. 

Finally Keith asked, 'Do you ever have regrets?' 

Almost he wanted to take the question back, for he had no wish to provoke a quarrel, such as had almost happened over the matter of the Dress Act; but Ewen, after a further space of silence, responded in the same low, thoughtful tone in which the question had been asked. 

'For the outcome? Of course. But for my actions? I don't see how I can. I hope I always act in the way that my honour and conscience bid me, and I couldn't say no when Lochiel bid me to rise, or when my Prince called on me. Nor did I want to.' 

He was silent again, and Keith thought that was all he would say, but after some while's further riding, he spoke again. 

'It is perhaps not my place to be too certain in criticising decisions in which I may not have all the information,' continued Ewen, scrupulously fair as always, 'but any thinking man or woman has the right to form their own opinion, from what they do know. You yourself have criticised your superiors, and I respect you for it. I do question whether France gave us enough aid—many felt betrayed by them. As for Lochiel, I believe he felt himself to be in the same position that I did; he had given his word. Though I know he had misgivings. And as for the Prince—'

And Keith held his breath, waiting to see what he would say. 

'I wonder whether it was right of him to come, with so little support from France at the outset. It's true that he did have one more ship, with men and arms, but it had to turn back—should he not then have broken off the attempt? I owe him my allegiance, but he has responsibilities to us, too, not to lead us into probable ruin and defeat. It is possible that he had more information—promises of aid that did not arrive, through no fault of his own, and there were clans as well as English Jacobites that broke their word and did not rally to him. I cannot say for sure where the fault lies. But yes; I must admit that these thoughts have troubled me.' 

Ewen spoke still in that low, contemplative voice, though now he glanced at Keith. Keith felt that he was showing a vulnerability and trust which was no less than Keith had shown him, last night, though of the mind rather than of the body. 

And Keith was not about to remind Ewen that he had told him so, though it was the truth. He only reached out again to offer what comfort he could, with a brief clasp of his hand, for there were no easy answers to his questions. 

'And you? Do you ever have regrets?' Ewen asked him in turn. 

Keith had not been ready for the question, though perhaps he ought to have been. 

'You already know, of course, my opinion of Cumberland and Hawley, and some other of the highly placed officers in their command,' he began slowly. 'One may agree on ends, and yet disagree on the means. There I must admit that your Prince does not seem to warrant the same criticism. I do not agree with his ends, in the least, and the very fact of his rebellion has led to much suffering; yet he has treated his prisoners most correctly, and when he invaded England he treated the populace well, from what I have heard.' 

But Keith had spoken in generalities, which indeed was easiest for him—Ewen had begun with his own actions, where he had nothing to be ashamed of, save giving his allegiance to a man who had led him to defeat. For him, the difficulty was to doubt that man. But for Keith...

'As to my own actions,' he finally went on, 'I do have regrets.' 

Ewen looked at him in some surprise, and Keith brought himself to continue. 'Not, in the main, for actions that I have taken, but for ones I have not. You escaped Culloden, and never saw what Inverness became, afterwards. And you were in prison while...while the countryside was ravaged.' 

'I did see some of it,' said Ewen quietly. 'And have heard more.' 

'Yes. It sickened me. After our first meeting at Fort Augustus, I was in disgrace because I had opposed their treatment of you, and I only barely escaped a court-martial. And I was...prudent after that, for fear of losing my position. I never participated in the worst of it. I never killed an unarmed man, nor ordered soldiers to do so. Nor did I suffer soldiers under my command to violate women—indeed, there were officers who ordered it, even. But commanding soldiers in the field was not, in general, intended to be part of my duties, since I was a staff officer. No, what I regret is that I did not speak up more against the atrocities that I witnessed, or heard given as orders. I saw unarmed men killed in cold blood, and then disfigured and mocked. I saw prisoners mistreated, and denied medical treatment. There was an officer in Inverness who was broken for showing them kindness, but I held my tongue because of the risk to my career.' 

Keith paused. Ewen said quietly, 'You risked it for me.' 

'Yes, I did. I risked, and lost, my career for you. But I did it for my personal attachment to you and for my obligations as a gentleman. Those are not poor reasons, but...I did not choose to risk it for moral principles, or for common humanity to strangers.' 

He fell silent, looking ahead over the glen which now, without the smoke of burning villages, lay so seemingly peaceful and green. Keith finally looked at Ewen, almost fearing what he would see on his face, but he saw no judgement, only what might be some complicated mix of sorrow and love. Ewen reached out his hand to silently clasp hands with him, as Keith had done for him, for indeed there were no easy answers. 

They halted that night by the shore of Loch Ness, across from the decayed ruins of Urquhart Castle, half-glimpsed in the mist that rose from the waters. Though there was still no rain, the clouds hung low and the hills were hidden, and the mist swirled round them, leaving fine droplets of water on their clothes and hair. 

Ewen stretched out his leg, wincing. They had stopped in the middle of the day for him to rest, but still, the exercise told on him. 

'You must rest, and I will find firewood,' Keith told him, and Ewen obediently sank down on a rock, rubbing at his thigh. 

Some while later, after the horses and the mule had been cared for, and they had supped on bread and meat, they sat close together, a blanket wrapped round both their shoulders, contemplating the fire with its welcome warmth and good cheer. 

'Do you remember the last time we sat so, at Loch Arkaig? Though not so close together,' asked Ewen. 

Keith smiled. 'I was thinking of it, as well.' 

Ewen interlaced their fingers, bringing Keith's hand up for a kiss. 'It is such a freedom, that I can touch you openly here. We won't often be able to do so.' He sighed wistfully. 

'No, indeed,' replied Keith, leaning his head into the hollow of Ewen's shoulder. 'Do you think Miss Cameron knows? Not that Dr Cameron will have told her—did you know he spoke to me, after you left?' 

'He did? What did he say?' Ewen looked apprehensive. 

'He assured me he wouldn't tell anyone—you were right about that. Otherwise, I believe he was perhaps...curious about me. Though he did say he would much prefer that you married some suitable Highland lady.' 

'Archie could scarcely complain about my not marrying, if I leave Ardroy to his eldest in the event of my death,' said Ewen defiantly. 

'Well, he couldn't know that. But—Miss Cameron?' 

'I don't know. But she always knew about my pranks, as a boy.' 

Keith snorted. 'I'm one of your pranks, am I?' Though he was rather charmed at the thought of Ewen as a trouble-making boy. 

'Oh, you know what I mean. She is observant, and she knows me well.' Ewen sighed. 'Yes, I think we cannot keep it from her forever, if she does not suspect already, and of course she won't approve. I don't know what to do about it.' He fell silent, gazing into the embers of the dying fire, red and glowing against the dark autumn night about them. 

'Well, we cannot solve that problem tonight. Shall we go to bed?' Keith turned his face up, and as he had known he would, Ewen kissed him, slow and lingering. 

Lying wrapped in plaid and blankets and in each other's arms, Keith murmured, 'What was that you said in Gaelic, the other night?' 

' _'Caidil gu sèimh, mo chridhe,'_ replied Ewen, and Keith tried to repeat it, his accent no doubt terrible. Ewen told it to him again piecemeal, until Keith had got it right, then murmured some further unintelligible words. 

'No more,' protested Keith. 'One phrase is enough for tonight.' 

'Tomorrow, then.' And they burrowed further into the blankets and slept. 

The next day, the road left the steep shores of Loch Ness and climbed higher on the moors, up to the pass at Whitebridge. It was the same path that Keith had ridden, lashed by the rain and by his own horror at how Guthrie had twisted his actions, after learning that Ewen thought he had betrayed him. But that was far behind them now. 

The wind had freshened and broken up the cloud cover, and occasional showers drenched them, but passed as quickly. The heather was now past its flowering and covered the hills like a brown sodden blanket; occasional rowans with their brave red berries brightened the prospect somewhat, though Keith still found it rather uninspiring. 

But as the road crested a small hill and began to descend on the other side, Ewen pulled up his horse. 'Look,' he said, pointing along the arrow-straight Great Glen that lay below them. 

'At what?' said Keith, somewhat crossly, for he could see another shower approaching from the west. 

'There,' said Ewen, 'that peak on the other side, that still has a little snow on it—you can just see Loch Lochy below it. That is Ben Tee, and just beyond it lies Ardroy, though we cannot see it.' There was such joy in his voice that Keith smiled to hear it, though the first windblown drops of the shower were beginning to fall on him. 

The evening found them descending to Fort Augustus, though they intended to detour round it—neither of them found their memories of the place to be particularly pleasant. The large encampment of tents round the fort had shrunk, and repairs to the damage done when the Jacobites had taken the fort earlier that year were evidently in progress. But before they could leave the road, they saw a small detachment of soldiers moving towards them. 

They got off the road to let them pass, but Keith swore under his breath when he saw who was the commanding officer. He heard Ewen's indrawn breath beside him. By gad, of all the men… But Keith had nothing to be ashamed of—he looked at the approaching Captain Greening with disdain. 

That individual was no less surprised to see them; perhaps more, for he had no doubt imagined the one to be returned to England in dishonour, with no further business in the north, and the other to have met his fate on the scaffold or a prison transport. 

'Captain Greening,' said Keith, his voice short. 

'Why, Mr Windham,' said the captain, pulling up his horse and seeming to take some pleasure in the appellation. 'I had not expected to see you here. But I see you have your...favourite prisoner with you. Perhaps he is eager for a repeat of this summer's hospitality in the fort? Or perhaps you are?' 

Keith sensed Ewen drawing breath beside him, but no—he would risk much if he took up arms. Keith glanced briefly at him and shook his head; Ewen pressed his lips together, but nodded reluctantly. Keith turned back to the man who had just given him the excuse to call him out. 

'You will apologise for that, Captain Greening,' said Keith in a cool, even voice. 'Or would you rather give me satisfaction?' 

He spoke the latter deliberately in a voice loud enough to be heard by the soldiers. Keith had never thought he might be in any measure grateful for his expulsion from the army, but as a serving officer he could not have demanded the satisfaction which he was now so intent on obtaining. Not that the ban on duels stopped numerous officers from doing it in defiance of that ban, but Keith had always taken his duty seriously. 

Captain Greening had flushed slightly. He had perhaps thought that Keith's previous abstention from any challenge stemmed from reluctance, not scrupulous adherence to duty, but had now found otherwise. And the public nature of that challenge would make it rather difficult for him to refuse, if he had any inclination to do so. 

But it seemed he had not. 'My second will speak with yours, Mr Windham. Corporal, take the men on; I will join you in a moment.' And the men marched off, looking not a little disappointed that they were to be denied the conclusion to this drama. Captain Greening spoke with his lieutenant in an undertone, while Keith exchanged a glance with Ewen, who nodded confirmation. 

The lieutenant came forward, and Ewen did likewise. 'Your principal has still the option of apologising, sir,' said Ewen politely. 'Does he intend to take it?' 

'He does not,' replied the lieutenant. 

'Then it is for him to choose the place and weapon. What does he propose?' 

'Swords. There is a field by the small loch a mile south of the fort, which is reasonably level. Seven o'clock tomorrow?' And they shook hands on it. 

As soon as the two officers were out of earshot, Keith turned to Ewen. 'I must beg your pardon—I know your honour is as nearly concerned as mine, but you cannot bear arms, and he might have brought you in as a prisoner if you had taken them up.' 

Ewen had let slip his polite restraint, and was looking after Captain Greening with hatred in his eyes. 'I would have given much to fight him, but I am content to have you defend my honour as well as your own. In any event, I'm not eager to be his prisoner again.' His mouth twisted with bitter memories. 

Keith privately thought that he, too, would have given much to see Ewen in a swordfight, considering the ease with which he had defeated Keith himself at their first meeting. That, of course, had hardly been a fair fight, but Keith thought he might well have lost it even if it had been. 

They crossed the Tarff just downstream from the fort and headed south, to camp near the duelling field. Mist lay on the fields early the next morning as they waited by the road.

And out of the mist came Captain Greening and his second; wasting no talk, they set about finding a suitable flat piece of ground, and the seconds first ascertaining again that Captain Greening did not intend to apologise, they agreed that the duel would proceed to first blood. 

Keith, as he drew his sword, felt that sharpening of his senses, the quickening of his pulse, that always preceded combat for him, and unlike engagements in the army, where he bore his opponents no ill will, this was personal. He would be very glad to draw Captain Greening's blood. 

The seconds gave the signal, and they engaged: the sound of steel on steel rang out over the fields and the still water of the lochan. Despite his animosity towards his opponent, Keith did not fight in hot blood—he was cool, methodical, testing the other man's defences and style. Captain Greening was younger than him, somewhere between twenty and five-and-twenty, perhaps, and he was not a bad swordsman. But having taken his measure, Keith now pressed on, with a quickening flurry of blows that put his opponent on the defensive, and seeing an opening, he took it. 

Captain Greening stumbled, dropping his sword and putting his hand to his arm, which was now bleeding freely. Keith stood back, allowing his opponent's second to come to his aid. 

'I am satisfied,' said Keith calmly. 

Captain Greening straightened, giving him a short nod in acknowledgment, though his face was pale. Keith wiped his sword clean, sheathed it, and the four men parted with no more words exchanged. 

They kept silent until they had reached their camp, out of earshot. 

'And are you satisfied?' asked Keith. 

'As much as if I had done it myself,' replied Ewen fiercely. 'I thank you, Keith. And that was a lovely piece of swordplay—I've never seen you fight before.' 

'Thank you,' muttered Keith, though in truth he was most gratified at the compliment. 'But you have—at our first meeting.' 

'Oh, that—you could hardly stand, and had been hit on the head besides,' Ewen dismissed. 'I never considered it any measure of your ability.' 

'We have got satisfaction from one of our enemies, then,' said Keith. 'I wonder where Major Guthrie is now—I dearly wished to challenge him, as well, when I heard what he had done to you...'

But they neither of them knew. 

They had packed earlier, and had only to mount and set out, for they had a long way to go if they were to reach Ardroy today. Keith still felt the energy of the fight run through him, which, conveying itself to his horse, he had almost to restrain her so as not to outpace the mule. 

At midday they stopped to eat, drawing back from the road to a copse of trees. But Keith had hardly dismounted when he found himself pushed up against a tree. 

'Now that we are more secluded, I find that I wish to convey my admiration more directly,' murmured Ewen, and kissed him hungrily. Keith was very willing to reciprocate, and after a rather quick and efficient, though highly satisfying, encounter, Keith roused his lust-addled brain enough to say in half-hearted protest, 'Anyone might come by.' 

'No, _m'eudail_ , for I looked very carefully at the road and the surroundings first, and we are quite alone,' replied Ewen. He drew Keith in for another kiss, less urgent but still quite thorough. 

'Is that to be my word of the day?' Keith asked, when released. 'What does it mean?' He attempted to repeat it. 

'It is an endearment, along the lines of "my dear" or "my darling",' explained Ewen, adding as an afterthought, 'It also means the spoils of a raid, especially cattle.' 

_'What?'_ exclaimed Keith incredulously. '...I take back everything I have said about Highlanders not being barbarians.' 

'As if English does not have words that mean two things,' protested Ewen. 'Besides, am I not your spoils of war?' he continued flippantly. 'And you have recently defended our honour in a duel, as well.' 

He fluttered his long eyelashes outrageously, and Keith broke down into helpless laughter. 

After their repast, they set off again. The sky growing steadily darker, Keith resigned himself to getting wet. Ewen led them off the road, and they forded the Oich where it joined the loch of the same name, saying that in the approaching weather he wished to take them by Invergarry, in order to avoid the steep pass up from Loch Lochy. They proceeded then on the gentler northern slopes of Loch Oich, passing the oak tree where the heron had first brought them together. 

The promised rain began to fall, not a shower, but a steady rain with the stamina to continue all day and night. The Garry was easily crossed, and then Ewen led them uphill along narrow paths that diverged and joined again, criss-crossing the hills and probably made by cattle, sheep, and Highlander alike. The clouds were now so low as to obscure their view of their nearest surroundings, and Keith would soon have been hopelessly lost. But Ewen seemed sure of himself, and presently he remarked that to their left were the slopes of Ben Tee, though they could not see them. 

'If you say so,' Keith grumbled, the rain now having entirely soaked through his clothes. 'How do you say "foul weather" in Gaelic?' 

'We don't,' said Ewen, with an insufferable smile, water dripping from a strand of his hair that had worked loose. 'Highlanders never complain about the weather.' 

'No doubt because you don't know what good weather is like,' retorted Keith. 

Ewen might have continued the exchange, but his attention was drawn by some landmark ahead. 'Look,' he said, pointing. 

Keith saw nothing as yet, but as they rode on, there emerged out of the mist the shore of a loch he might hardly have recognised had it not been for Ewen's reaction. What he could see of the surface was a grey expanse into which plunked innumerable drops of rain, and the vegetation along the shore was a dull sodden brownish green. But on Ewen's face was a joy he had never thought to see on the face of a man so thoroughly wet. 

Keith thought he would bear any amount of rain for the sake of seeing that expression on his face. 

'Thank you,' murmured Ewen, and Keith was not sure for what—for agreeing to return with him? For taking charge of the estate? 

But he replied, 'You are most welcome, _mo chridhe_ ,' no doubt mangling the Gaelic terribly. 

But Ewen only smiled affectionately at him. 'Oh, my dearest. Welcome back to Ardroy.' 

And he led them round the loch to the house, opening the door with no preamble. 'Aunt Marget? I'm home!' 

That lady, quickly appearing, seemed at first to be speechless, but gripped Ewen's hands hard. 'Oh!' she said, turning aside and hiding her face in her hands. Keith thought she might be sobbing with relief. 

'I've had no letter since Mr Windham wrote to me, saying you were in prison waiting for trial,' she said unsteadily. 

'We did write to you, after the trial!' said Ewen. 'But perhaps the letter has not arrived yet.' 

'No, but you have come instead. Oh, my dear boy, you are so infinitely welcome!' 

'And I am so very glad to be home. But you must thank Mr Windham for that,' said Ewen. 'Without him, I might still be on a prison ship, and very like to die on it before I could even come to trial.' 

Miss Cameron turned to Keith. 'Mr Windham, you have brought my Ewen back to me. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart—if there is anything that I am able to do for you, you have only to ask.' 

Keith wondered whether she would still say such a thing if she knew the truth of his relationship with Ewen. 'Madam, I am very glad to be able to restore him to you. But truly I need no reward for it, save that he is alive and free.' 

'You are truly free, then?' she said, turning to Ewen. 'How did the trial go?'

But Ewen, laughing, told her that the whole story would have to wait. 'We must take care of the horses—they are in the stable, but still bridled. Will you make some supper ready for us? For I could eat a whole steak, if there were one.' 

There was no steak, but there was bread and cheese and apples. They left their outerwear dripping by the door and left wet footprints on their way up the stairs, finding dry clothes as best they could in Ewen's room. Ewen, laughing, threatened to make Keith wear one of his old kilts, but finally relented. 

'Yes, I agree—it would look rather odd. I think your legs have never seen the sun,' he said. 

Keith narrowed his eyes. 'You had no fault to find with my legs in Inverness.' 

'Mmm, indeed no,' said Ewen, casting an appreciative glance at his half-dressed lover. 

At supper, Ewen told the story of his trial to Miss Cameron, giving Keith such credit that he became rather abashed, and reminded him of his own behaviour in court, which had surely contributed to his success. And Miss Cameron gave Ewen the exceedingly welcome news that Lochiel had escaped to France, with the Prince on the same ship, too. 

Keith spent that night alone in his accustomed bed in the guest room, but he was so content with having a proper roof over his head and a dry bed to lie in that he did not feel he could complain over being parted from Ewen.


	9. Chapter 9

A few days later, a messenger came up from Fort William bearing a large packet of mail. 

'These appear to be our letters to you,' said Ewen to Miss Cameron. 'But you already know their contents. Nothing for me, but these are for you,' handing Keith three letters, one of which was rather voluminous. 

Keith, inspecting the letters, noted that one was from Francis, the other from his step-father and the third from Colonel St Clair. He retreated to an armchair by the fireplace to peruse them. Opening the second, he saw that besides the actual letter, there was enclosed also an official-looking envelope addressed to him. His heart began to pound. Was this, then, the King's decision on his court-martial? 

Better to have it over with. Keith tore it open and waded through the official verbiage in search of what was significant: reinstated...demoted...detached duty...and his new commission—oh! He lowered the paper, having absorbed the gist of it, but not in the least digested his own emotions as to what it meant. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to read it over again, slowly, seeing in the corner of his eye Ewen keeping a respectful distance and not looking at him. 

Having finished, he sat there, rather stunned. 'Ewen?' 

'Yes?' said Ewen, turning towards him. 'Oh, what does it say?' 

Keith stood, noticing that Miss Cameron had left the room to give him privacy, or perhaps Ewen had asked her to. 'I am reinstated, and in my old regiment, too! That is the good news. I'm demoted to captain again, but that's a small price to pay.' 

'Oh, Keith!' In Ewen's face were emotions that were no less complicated than Keith's own. 'I congratulate you, then, and I'm very glad that your sacrifice for my sake was not to be permanent. But then—will you go back to Flanders?' He could not quite keep the ambivalence from his voice now. 

'No—it seems I am to traipse across the Highlands for the forseeable future.'

'What? Are you to be stationed at one of the forts? Then we could at least—' Ewen broke off, glancing at the door, which was closed, but still...

'No, I am to be detached from my regiment, to help organise a geographical survey of the Highlands, for military purposes,' said Keith slowly, wondering what had brought about this assignment. 'I know little of surveying, but perhaps I am only to organise the practical side. In any case they do not propose to begin the survey in the winter-time, for which I suppose I am to be grateful! But I am summoned to Edinburgh in March.' 

'And until then, you are free?' 

'I am.' Keith smiled sidelong at him. 

'And it doesn't seem impossible that you could visit, during the survey. Oh Keith, I am so glad!' Ewen pressed his hand. 

'Come and sit. I'll read my other letters, and we will see whether they shed any further light on the situation.' He read his step-father's letter first, which was full of congratulations, and indeed contained some further information. 

'The Earl conjectures,' Keith summarised, 'that the influence of the Duke of Cumberland kept me from being fully reinstated, and instead shuttled off to an assignment in a—pardon me—out-of-the-way corner of the nation. I suppose I'm not surprised.' His mouth twisted. 'But it seems the hasty, and thus perhaps unreliable, nature of the court-martial, as well as the influence of my family and the Colonel of my regiment, is what saved me.' 

He went on to read Colonel St Clair's letter, and began to laugh. 'Oh, you must hear this: "Your case seems to have been exposed to a certain notoriety, both in your favour and against it. I care not a whit for your Highlander, but I resent greatly the interference with an officer of my regiment, especially on such a summary basis, and I will, therefore, exert myself on your behalf. I do not care to see a good officer wasted."'

'St Clair,' murmured Ewen, amused. 'He must be a Lowlander, I think?' 

Keith admitted that it was so. 

Francis' letter was more light-hearted: it contained congratulations to Keith and good wishes to Ewen, but also clippings from newspapers responding to the news that Keith's sentence had been overturned. These they read with much amusement, now that they were out of reach of any ill effect the negative ones might have had. 

Late that evening, Keith sat by the desk in his room composing replies to his letters, when there was a knock at the door. 

'Come in.' As Ewen entered, closing the door behind him, Keith felt a curious sense of life repeating itself. 'Do you remember, the day that we first...well. You came here as I was writing to my step-father, and now I'm doing so again. On the same subject, too.' 

Ewen was silent for a space, leaning back against the door and looking thoughtful. 'I think that everyday life is just such a repetition of events and habits that one forms together. It is, I imagine, what married life is like—well, after the honeymoon.' 

Keith went to him, leaning into his welcoming embrace. 'I never expected to wed. Nor did I especially want to—you'd be surprised, before I met you, at how cynical I was.' 

'Cynical—how?' 

'It's an old story.' Keith briefly related it. 

'I'm sorry,' said Ewen softly. 

'It's been years, and I hardly think of her now. But Ewen—you did intend to wed.' 

'Yes. Alison—I loved her, and I suppose it hasn't been so long since she broke the engagement, measured in time. But in human life, it feels like forever. The war—Culloden—my imprisonment—' He fell silent. 

'I would wed you, if I could,' murmured Keith into his neck. 

'And I would have you, in a heartbeat.' Ewen sighed. 'That is another reason Aunt Marget will be difficult—she will soon want me to find another lady for the house. And of course I couldn't.' 

'I fear I am a poor substitute for a wife,' said Keith. 'The British army will soon claim me again.' 

Ewen's arms tightened. 'I will take what I can get of you. We'll have until January, at least.' 

And they both took what they could get of each other, until Ewen reluctantly pushed him away, saying, 'Oh—I must go back to my room, before we go too far.' 

'Yes,' Keith agreed. 'But—' he pulled him close again, whispering in his ear, 'Touch yourself, and think of my mouth on you. And I will do the same.' 

Ewen made a small frustrated noise, and nodded. 

***

They all worked, together with the tenants, to build up those crofts which had been ruined by the soldiers before the snows of winter came. While not entirely passed by, Ardroy had been less affected than many other places, which were more accessible, and they had even managed to save many of their cattle and sheep by driving them up into the hills to escape the soldiers. Still, the winter would not be easy. 

Keith had an uneasy peace with Lachlan, and largely avoided him. He supposed it could not be easy for him—he had, Keith surmised, been Ewen's closest companion, and now to find himself ousted by an Englishman and a redcoat who had saved Ewen from dangers against which Lachlan himself could have done nothing. But he did not show Keith any hostility, perhaps because he knew it would not avail him, and perhaps also because he knew that Keith would in due time be leaving. 

One crisp autumn day, Ewen and Keith set off into the hills to get some venison for their table. The ground was lightly dusted with snow, perfect for tracking. Ewen knew the deer paths on the heights well, and they waited through the long falling dusk, concealed along one of those paths, but night fell without any shot fired. 

They spent the night at a high shieling, and by the fireside committed premeditated capital crime, with most of their clothes on for warmth, for despite the fire it was freezing cold. 

Afterwards, Keith remained shakily on hands and knees, catching his breath. 'Oh, that was…' he shook his head, finding no words. 'I should be less selfish next time, and let you try it.' 

'I confess I am curious about how it feels, to make you sound like that,' replied Ewen. 'But I'm hardly making a sacrifice for your sake, you know.' 

'No indeed, I didn't think so,' said Keith, amused. 'But come, it is cold; I need you for a blanket now.' 

'I am at your service, _cion-gràidh_.' And they arranged themselves with their clothes on and several blankets besides, with Keith nearest the remnants of the fire and Ewen gallantly wrapping himself round him on the other side. 

'I've been thinking,' said Keith sleepily. 'I am quite fluent in endearments now, but since I will after all be spending years in the Highlands, would you perhaps make a more serious effort to teach me the language?' 

'Gladly,' replied Ewen. 'We shall have many winter nights to practise, when the snows come.' 

They rose before dawn, and lay in waiting again, while round them the grey light increased by slow imperceptible degrees until, from one moment to the next, one realised that colours might be distinguished: the deep blue of the sky, with its faint tinge of rose to the east, the variable shades of ochre and brown of the bracken and heather, the crisp white of the frost that limned every leaf. The peaks were dark silhouettes against the sky. And there, flowing down the path, were a group of three deer, their tawny brown outlined against the frost. 

Two shots rang out, and one deer fled, its white rump signaling danger, too late. 

They ate well that night, with the other deer having gone to bring joy to the MacMartins at Slochd nan Eun. 

In November, the long arm of the government reached Ardroy in the form of a portly man on a gelding, accompanied by an officer with a troop of soldiers. He was evidently not military, and the mystery was resolved when he introduced himself as Mr Alexander Ross of the Commissioners for the Forfeited Estates, while the officer was Captain John Lowry of Blakeney's 27th. 

'You are Mr Ewen Cameron, I presume?' queried Mr Ross. 

'I am,' replied Ewen. 

'You must know why I am here, of course,' said Mr Ross. 'I regret to say that I am come to take your forfeited estate into custody.' 

'It is not my estate,' retorted Ewen to this. 

'Oh? Pray tell, whose estate is it, then?' said Mr Ross, to whom this stratagem was not new. 

'Mine,' interjected Keith, stepping forward. 'May I introduce myself? I am Captain Keith Windham of the Royal Scots, on furlough.' He said it with a certain satisfaction, it being the first time since his commission was returned to him that he had occasion to say it. 'I will fetch the deed, to prove it.' 

He duly showed Mr Ross the deed. 

Mr Ross had served the Commissioners since the Fifteen, and was well aware of the difficulties of forfeiting a Highland estate: he had seen every manner of subterfuge, from obstructions on the part of the Scottish legal profession, ranging from local solicitors to the highest courts in Edinburgh, to the case of the erstwhile Earl of Seaforth, where government representatives were simply run off the Mackenzie lands while a factor blithely sent the rents to his exiled master in France. It was simply not as easy as the stroke of a pen in London might make it seem, although the undertaking was now considerably eased by the red tide of soldiers that had swept the Highlands with fire and blood after Culloden. 

But Mr Ross was considerably perplexed by the defence now offered: though a variation on a familiar theme, he believed it was the strangest one he had seen in many years. 

'May I ask how an English officer came to be in possession of a Highland estate?' He might have supposed it some money-making scheme, if Captain Windham was not seemingly living in domestic harmony with the laird. 

'I don't see how that is relevant to your mission,' the said English officer replied firmly. 'You will find that everything is in order at the records offices at Edinburgh.' 

No doubt, though it would not hurt to let a lawyer take a look at it. But nothing more could be done about it for now. 'Then I will let the Captain speak,' said Mr Ross. 

Captain Lowry eyed Keith uncertainly. He was Keith's own age, more or less, though they had never met. 

'Captain, I am not in uniform,' said Keith. 'You do not ask, but since the situation is somewhat irregular, I will fetch my commission to show you.' 

He did so, and Captain Lowry eyed it briefly, saying politely, 'I didn't doubt you, Captain Windham. But to business, since you are the owner of this estate: we are come to execute the Disarming Act. All weapons of any sort must be turned in, belonging to the estate or to the tenants.' 

'Certainly,' Keith assured him. 'I am at your service.' 

Ewen, beside him, said nothing, though Keith could feel how tense he was. 

But Keith, seeing Captain Lowry eyeing his own sword hanging by the door, added, 'That is my sword, and on the premises I have also my pistols, and,' adding as an afterthought, 'that hunting musket is also mine. Surely you do not mean to take these?' 

'No, of course not,' said Captain Lowry, 'though any weapons in the house that are not yours personally must be surrendered.'

He turned to Ewen. 'Mr Cameron, I must ask whether you wish to take an oath of loyalty to King George.' 

Ewen stiffened. 'I do not,' he said inflexibly. 

'Then we must require you to take another oath, and if you will not, we will bring you in as a prisoner.' 

'May I perhaps be permitted to know what that oath is, first?' said Ewen. 

Captain Lowry recited it. Ewen stood silent and still, as if turned to stone. Keith did not seek his gaze—he could do nothing for him—but exchanged a glance with Miss Cameron, standing by the door. Her face was impassive, but of course she would show nothing to the redcoats. Or, perhaps, to him. 

Finally Ewen said, as if the life had gone out of him, 'I will swear it.' 

And so Keith listened while Ewen, with a dull voice, called down a curse upon himself, his kin and all his undertakings, and invoked the death of a coward and burial without a prayer in a strange land, if he broke his oath that he had not, and never would have in his possession, any sword or pistol or arms whatsoever, nor would use any part of the Highland garb. 

Keith's heart went out to him, as he stood there empty-handed, his utter surrender witnessed by the troop of soldiers, of which Keith, since the letter containing his commission, was now one. 

Instinctively, to draw their attention from Ewen, he asked Captain Lowry, 'Do you mean to search my tenants' homes now? If so, I must insist that you not harm them or their crofts.' 

'That will not be necessary,' said Captain Lowry. 'They will have one week's time to surrender the weapons at Fort Augustus or Fort William. Searches will be made later, and if anyone is found to have held something back, I pray you will inform them what the consequences will be. We will not at this point punish them for wearing Highland garb, though it is against the law,' he continued generously, 'for they may not have received news of it. But that, likewise, you must inform them of, and they must bear the consequences later, if they do not conform.' 

'Thank you, Captain Lowry; I shall inform them, and the weapons will be surrendered. Is that all?' For Keith wished them gone from the premises, for Ewen's sake. 

'Thank you, Captain Windham; it is,' said Captain Lowry. And he politely took his leave. 

Like Mr Ross, he was trying in vain to understand how a captain of His Majesty's army, and of the prestigious 1st of Foot, to boot, should be staying with a Cameron rebel, and should have come to own his estate. 

They retired into the house, and Keith now looking upon Ewen's face found it closed off and controlled. 

'Ewen. I am sorry,' he ventured quietly. 

Ewen turned his face away, put on his overcoat and bonnet and replied, in a low but intense voice, 'I cannot speak with you now.' 

And he was out the door, whether to Slochd nan Eun to see his foster-family, or to wander the hills on his own, Keith did not know. 

His face must have shown his distress, for Miss Cameron said, 'Do not be hard on him, Captain Windham. He must be grateful to you, you know, but gratitude is not always easy to muster, under the circumstances.' 

Keith bowed his head. 'It strikes me that the same must be true of you, madam.' 

Indeed, he had saved Ewen's life and estate, but taken from her the chances of Ewen marrying and having children of his own, to preserve the clan line, though he did not know whether she knew that. 

She stood silent for a moment. 'Perhaps. Well, on a practical note, I'm glad you claimed the musket.' 

'I see no reason why we should not have venison,' offered Keith, relieved by the retreat to more neutral subjects. He wondered what her opinion of him really was. 

'Indeed,' she said. 

Keith retreated to his room, there to write in his journal and attempt without success to distract himself by reading. In the late evening, a knock on the door set his heart to racing. 

'Come in.' 

Ewen stood in the doorway, but did not come in. Though it was dark, he must have recently come in from the cold, for his cheeks were red with it. 'Keith. I only wish to say, before I go to bed, that I am not angry with you, and I hope you are not with me.' 

'I am not,' said Keith. 

Ewen nodded, seemed as if he were about to say something else, then shook his head. 'Until tomorrow, then. Good night.' 

'Good night,' replied Keith. 

The door closed, and Keith spent some while looking at it, until he sighed, and went to bed. 

The next day Ewen was almost as he had been, though he was not able to speak of it until a few days had passed. 

'You understand, perhaps, why I left the other day.' They were sitting in his room in their customary tête-a-tête before bedtime, Ewen on the bed and Keith in his armchair nearby. 

'I think so,' said Keith, 'though I should not presume to say that I can fully enter into your feelings. I couldn't blame you for leaving, though I—I felt for you.' 

Ewen looked relieved. 'No. And I love you, and I am grateful to you, but in that moment, I couldn't stand that you were one of them—' He shook his head. 

'Miss Cameron said much the same thing, to explain your leaving,' said Keith wryly. 

Ewen looked startled. 'She did?' 

'Save that she did not mention love.' 

Ewen stretched out his hand. 'Come. Let me kiss you. I have not, since—' 

And Keith came to him, kneeling by the side of the bed while Ewen cupped his face in his hands and gently kissed him. A tension seemed to run out of both of them, and Ewen tugged him up onto the bed. 

'Come, lie with me. Just for a moment.' And Keith, lying once more in Ewen's arms, felt the rightness of it, despite all the things in this world that parted them. Ewen sighed, and stroked Keith's short hair. 

And then, after too short a time, they reluctantly parted and sat up, side by side on the bed this time. 

'I cannot stand the secrecy of this anymore,' said Ewen with some frustration. 'I know you had a horror that your family would find out, when we were at Stowe House, and I quite understand it. But I? I would rather tell Aunt Marget, and have done with it. Quite possibly, she already knows, or suspects, at least.' 

'You're a braver man than I,' said Keith. 

'But it touches on you, as well,' continued Ewen. 'Would you mind it, if I did?' 

'You know her best, and if you wish to do it, I won't stand in your way. I suppose I'm more worried about the servants and the tenants. Rumour can ruin a man's reputation, even if it does not come to...the punishment that the law would mete out.' 

'Yes. You're right. But I'll speak with her tomorrow, then,' said Ewen decisively, looking relieved at the prospect, which Keith rather regarded with dread. 'And I agree—even when she knows, we cannot be careless.' 

The next evening after supper, Ewen declared to Miss Cameron that he must speak to her in private, and Keith retreated to his room. 

Sitting at his desk, he looked out over the desolate landscape: save where black rocks jutted from it, the snow lay unbroken to the horizon, cold and blue in the moonlight; and Loch na h-Iolaire, towards which his window faced, was only a smooth expanse where the water lay frozen and still until spring. And yet there were signs of habitation: the paths between the houses, the smoke rising from the crofts where, he hoped, the tenants were keeping warm enough. Keith's own fire burned in the hearth. He sat so, writing a few disjointed lines in his journal by candlelight, with long pauses for thought, until Ewen knocked on his door.

On his face was the remains of a stubborn expression that had been aimed, Keith supposed, at Miss Cameron. 

'What did she say?' asked Keith, moving to the bed, where they could sit side by side. 

'She was...not pleased. And yes, she had suspected it.' Now that he was not facing Miss Cameron any longer, Ewen brought up his knees to his chin and leaned his head on them, looking rather sad. 

'She said that for my own sake I should give up this affair, which besides being sinful and unnatural, would only lead to unhappiness for me, and that I would live my life in secrecy and loneliness and die knowing that Ardroy had gone to another man's son, if I was not hanged first.' 

There was silence for a space. Keith could not say that there were not elements of that prophecy that had not haunted his own darker imaginings, at times. But then, had he not met Ewen, he would have died a lonely death regardless, and lived a lonely life besides. 

Finally Keith asked gently, 'And what did you say to that?' 

'I said that I loved you,' replied Ewen, his stubborn expression returning and his chin rising in defiance, 'and that who could ask a lover to prove himself better than you have, when you have saved my life and my liberty at great cost to yourself? And that I could no more leave you than if I had been married to you.' 

Keith flushed. He remembered his flash of insight in the prison at Fort Augustus, that here was a man who would never play friend or lover false—how true that was. 'And what did she say then?' 

'That I had always been too obstinate for my own good.' Ewen leaned his head down on his knees again. 'She is like a mother to me, and it pains me that we are so at odds now.' 

Keith reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, and somehow offer comfort, and Ewen sighed and lay down with his head in Keith's lap. Keith stroked his hair, and with his other hand could feel the beating of Ewen's heart through the warm woollen fabric of his waistcoat. 

'But you knew, surely, that she would not approve.' 

Ewen nodded. 'But she brought me up to speak for myself, and be honest, and I could not help doing so now.' 

Keith loosed Ewen's plait, so that he might card his fingers through the strands of his hair. Ewen sighed again, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he said in a small, quiet voice, 'There is a part of me that cannot help wondering if she is right—that it is a sin. Who am I to gainsay the Church?' 

Keith felt the cold grip of fear round his heart, that this would be taken from him. Ewen's faith had always been something he did not quite understand; it was so far from the world he knew, where a man displaying genuine religious sentiment might well be mocked for it. Since their return to Ardroy, Ewen had read the Church service every Sunday for the household, with the servants and surrounding crofters attending, for they persisted in holding their services in spite of the proscription against the non-juring faith. Keith had attended as well, partly out of curiosity, and been struck by his simple and heartfelt manner. 

Ewen continued thoughtfully, 'But why would God make me with the capacity to love you as I do, if He intended it to be a sin? For other sins, I do believe I was created with the inner moral sense to recognise them for what they are—murder, and rape, and getting a woman with child out of wedlock—those are things I feel revulsion for. I won't say that I have never been tempted to commit smaller sins, but in those cases I knew them for sins. With you, I only feel the rightness of it.' 

Keith said nothing, but felt a great tenderness for him. 

'And what we do together—to be sure it is not for the begetting of children, and I own that I am giving something up, when no children of mine will inherit Ardroy. But I will give that up, for you. I cannot believe that what we have is not love, as much as that between man and woman. That I can lie here, with my head in your lap, and you can bring me comfort—what is that but love?' 

He took Keith's hand, resting over his heart, and brought it up to kiss it. 

'I'm no heathen,' said Keith, 'but I don't have your personal relation to faith. For myself, I think that loving you has rather improved my sense of morality, than the reverse, no matter that the world thinks it a sin. You told me once that I thought poorly of my fellow men and of myself, but acted otherwise. I think less poorly of them now, I believe.' 

'I'm glad.' Ewen lay looking up at him for a moment more, then rolled over to sit again, shoulder to shoulder with him. 

'And tomorrow I must face your aunt. I wonder will she wish to speak with me about it,' said Keith. 'I would rather face armed men across a field of battle.' 

'I have faith in you.' Ewen squeezed his hand, then stretched his arms above his head. 'Ah, we have had enough soul-searching thoughts for one evening. I should go to bed; I hope I shall be able to sleep after all this.' 

Keith did manage to fall asleep, but his trepidation concerning Miss Cameron led him to open that conversation the next day before she did, to have it over with. Ewen was out making a round among his tenants, which Keith suspected he had done in order to let them speak. 

He closed the door of the room, and said in a low voice, 'Miss Cameron, I never meant to cause you pain, and I'm sorry that I have done so. And I apologise for bringing up a subject which must discompose us both—I only do so because it seems to me worse to, well, skulk about the house avoiding you.' 

He saw her mouth quirk up at that latter, but as she met his eyes, her expression had turned serious and firm. For a moment he contrasted her with his own mother, and could not imagine two women more dissimilar. 

'Captain Windham, it is not for myself that I feel pain, but for my nephew's sake. I think he does not fully realise what sort of a life he is setting himself up for. Can you say, with sincerity, that you think you will bring him more happiness than sorrow? And have you fully considered the sin which you are both committing?' 

Keith considered saying that Ewen would not even be alive save for him, but he was sure Ewen had made that argument already. 

'No one can say for certain what the future may bring,' he said, meeting her eyes with some difficulty. To speak with a woman—and Ewen's aunt!—on such a subject! But it had to be done, now that Ewen had irrevocably taken away the possibility of her pretending ignorance, even had she wanted to. 'My own life would certainly have been less complicated if I had never met him. But it would also have held less happiness, that I can say for sure. I cannot regret it, and my sins are between me and God. As for him...I hope you don't lay his broken engagement at my feet—we had only met twice, and not for several months, when it happened.' 

'I don't,' said Miss Cameron, 'for I know that Miss Grant broke it. I'm sorry for that. But they might perhaps have reconciled, if not for you.' 

'I cannot answer for that, madam, for your nephew is certainly capable of choosing his own course of action, and making his own judgements. I must tell you that he was the one who first declared himself to me, not the reverse, though I am quite as committed to him.' 

She was silent for a space, her face troubled, and then sighed. 'Perhaps you're wondering, Captain Windham, what I will do. If Ewen is set on this course and I cannot persuade him otherwise, which seems to be the case, then I will hardly denounce you. I couldn't do that to my own nephew, no matter how much I disapprove. But I will pray for you both, in the hope that you will come to your senses.' 

Keith let out a breath. 'Thank you. When it comes to secrecy, I believe that I am more careful than he is. And I regret to lay the burden of this secret on your shoulders.' 

'That is considerate of you, Captain Windham,' said Miss Cameron dryly. 

Then she continued, 'Ah, what a tangled web this is. You don't even leave me the comfort of being able to wish that he had never met you, for then he would be lying cold in the ground.' 

Keith could find nothing to say to that, and only bowed his head. 

Late that night, when he was half asleep, Keith heard a low sound coming from his door. With a soldier's instincts, he was instantly awake, but relaxed his guard when he saw Ewen standing there with a candle in his hand. 

Closing the door behind him, Ewen whispered, 'The house has been dark for some while. May I share your bed? Not until morning, only…' 

Keith looked at him in the soft warm light of the candle, in his shirtsleeves and with his hair unbound, and could not say no. 'Come here,' he whispered, pulling his covers aside in invitation. 

Ewen set the candle on the bedside table, and as he disrobed, Keith noted with satisfaction how his frame had filled out—no more the starved prisoner with his ribs showing. 

'Take your shirt off instead of sitting there looking at me,' whispered Ewen, and then, rather illogically, pushed Keith down to kiss him before he could do so. 

Neither of them had to say that they must not make any noise—they both knew it. And indeed they were quiet: aside from their quickened breathing, only some whispered words of praise, or request, passed over their lips, and towards the end a few stifled sighs of pleasure. 

They had not lain in a bed together since Inverness, and Keith dearly wished he could let himself fall asleep in Ewen's arms, but he did not trust either of them to wake early enough. 

'Ewen, dearest,' he whispered, shaking his shoulder. 'You must leave.' 

Ewen made a soft sound of protest, but he knew it as well as Keith. He sat up, donned his shirt, and padded on silent feet to the door.


	10. Chapter 10

The short days and long evenings of winter passed, with storms at times keening round the corners of the house for days on end. They spent those days by the fireside, Ewen patiently instructing Keith in Gaelic, sometimes even joined in the endeavour by Miss Cameron. Keith found it quite different from learning Latin or French, which for him had primarily been learned as written languages, clearly structured by grammar, although his spoken French had improved while he was in Flanders. 

As most Highlanders could not write, and his purpose was to communicate with them, he did not even attempt to learn any spelling. Instead he learned by listening, repeating, and plunging into speaking with a lack of regard for grammar which was no doubt painful to hear. But he made steady progress. 

In one of their occasional quiet late-night trysts, Ewen playfully refused to do anything unless Keith could ask for it in Gaelic. Keith, frustrated, asked whether Ewen intended this exercise to give him the vocabulary to seduce any and all Highlanders that he met. At this rejoinder Ewen grew slightly possessive, with enjoyable results for Keith. 

Keith felt rather cooped up in the house, and as March approached, some part of him felt relief that he would soon be engaged in active, productive work again, tempered by a sense of impending loss, since he did not know when he would be able to see Ewen again. 

He intended to set off in good time to be in Edinburgh in the middle of March. On sunny days the snow was melting in the glens and on the southern-facing slopes, though the cold nights froze it again into a crust that one could walk on, at least if the sun did not soften it, in which case one could sink down into the wet snow to the knee. The ground would be waterlogged where the snow had melted, and the burns beginning to swell—it was hardly a good time to travel, but he had no choice. 

Ewen intended to come with him part of the way to Fort William, where he had arranged to have Lively shipped, with Francis' aid—it was a relief to once again have access to the resources of the army. 

They rose early that morning, before dawn. Last night, Keith had brushed off his uniform and hung it out to air, and he was wearing it now. Ewen opened his mouth in startlement when he saw him in it, then smiled ruefully, for of course he should have known to expect it. Keith wondered what his feelings were at seeing him in uniform—mixed, in all probability. 

Keith took his leave from Miss Cameron, whose polite but impassive air did not reveal what she was thinking. And then as the sun rose behind the hazy clouds, they were off down the Gleann Chia-Aig, as he now knew it was called, south towards Achnacarry. Though he still limped when he was tired, Ewen's leg was much improved with the rest it had received during the winter. As the glen narrowed into a ravine where the waters of the Abhainn Chia-Aig had scoured out its deepening passage, Ewen beckoned him to the side of the track. 

'See here,' he said, climbing up towards where the rock lay exposed to the south. Keith came after him, curious, to see that Ewen was pointing to a small plant, its grey-green leaves inconspicuous where they lay against the dark rock. But two of its little buds had opened, and the flowers glowed a startling purple, such a contrast against the dull colours of the surroundings that the eye fairly drank it in. 

'It's the _clach-bhriseach purpaidh,_ ' said Ewen. 'Purple saxifrage, in English. I always used to look for the first of them in the spring, when I was a boy. I still do.' 

'That is beautiful,' said Keith, quite sincerely. They stood some while looking at it, and then he added, 'But I'm not memorising that name, though I did understand "purple", and "rock", I think?' 

Ewen laughed. 'Yes, that's right. And no, I suppose you might not get much use of it.' 

'Thank you for showing me that,' said Keith, and Ewen smiled at him. His cheeks were red with the cold and the exertion, and his blue bonnet was pulled down over his ears. 

Though the castle was still ruined, they could see that there had been some rebuilding done round Achnacarry, and that smoke rose from the new crofts there. Keith was glad to see it. As they descended, the crofts were hidden by the hill that lay between them and the Arkaig, and without anything needing to be said, they both stopped on that hillside. It was where they had first shared blankets—how long ago it felt now. 

Keith looked round, to see that they were alone, and then stepped closer to Ewen, taking his hands and looking up at his face, which was now quite serious. 

'Should we part here?' asked Keith quietly. 

'I think it would be best,' replied Ewen, just as quietly. 

Ewen took one step closer, and Keith put his arms up round Ewen's neck. His lips and nose were cold as Keith kissed him, but his mouth was warm and welcoming. 

'I've never kissed you in your uniform before,' said Ewen, as they drew apart. 

'Does it bother you?' 

'No. I know it is who you are, or part of who you are, at least. My redcoat,' said Ewen fondly, though there was a shadow of melancholy in his eyes. 'Ay, I know you'll be away much of the time. But it is no uncommon thing for soldiers and sailors to marry—they, and their wives, must bear it when they are gone, and so can we.' 

'Here, take this.' Keith, on an impulse, took off the signet ring he bore; and taking Ewen's left hand, he slid it onto his ring finger. 'I know you cannot wear it there, but…' 

Ewen brought up the ring to examine it, the lion's head surrounded by a fetterlock. 'No, but I shall treasure it, and put it on a chain round my neck instead. Thank you, Keith. I have no ring with me to give you, though I shall certainly give you my mother's wedding ring when you return.' 

Then his mouth curled into an impish smile. 'Or perhaps you'd rather have the ring with the miniature of the Prince, that he gave me when I saved him from your patrol in Edinburgh?' 

Keith groaned. 'Do you wish me to be court-martialled over again?' 

And Ewen's clear laughter rang out over the hillside. 

'Will it be possible to write to you?' asked Ewen when they both had recovered from their levity. 

'I shall certainly write to you,' replied Keith. 'But I believe I won't be staying long in Edinburgh, and after that I have no earthly idea where in Scotland I shall be. I'll let you know if there is anywhere you may direct your letters. And of course, I don't know when I'll be able to visit, though I shall do my very best.' 

'Yes,' said Ewen, 'but please, don't be concerned that I'll be alone. I will have my other love, after all.' 

'I have a rival, do I?' Keith raised an eyebrow. 

Ewen spread his hands, to encompass all the wide glens and hills and rushing burns about them. 'I don't know that you should regard her as your rival, but I have loved the Highlands my whole life.' 

'It seems as if I will also be getting to know her well, although for us it is rather more in the nature of an arranged marriage,' said Keith dryly. 

Ewen began to laugh again. 'Oh Keith, I love you so.' 

And they embraced yet again, and with a few more whispered endearments, reluctantly parted at last. On the crest of the hill, Keith turned, to see Ewen still standing there, watching him with upturned face. Ewen raised his hand, and Keith raised his, and then he turned towards Fort William and the south. 

***

15th of March, Edinburgh

Dear Ewen,

Having no wish to burden you with my bad Temper, I delay'd writing to you until I should reach Edinburgh. Suffice it to say that the day that Glen Spean is blessed with a proper Road instead of a curst wet muddy Track, Lively and I shall both rejoice, and if my future surveying Duties should in any way contribute to this, they shall have prov'd their Worth. However, I gained Wade's Road at Dalwhinnie, and Edinburgh a few days after. 

Lieutenant-Colonel Watson, the Deputy Quartermaster-General, is in charge of the Survey, but has many other Duties and is keen to delegate all practical Matters to me. The chief Surveyor William Roy is but twenty-one, but seems to know his Craft well, if I am any Judge of such Matters, which I admit I am not; in any case, he is confident. 

For convenience, we plan to begin in the South-Eastern Highlands and work our way North and West. We set out in one Week's time. 

I hope that you and Miss Cameron are well, and what else I wish to Say, you already Know. 

Yours Faithfully,  
Keith Windham

***

In the warm July weather, Captain Keith Windham rode again up the glen from Achnacarry, to arrive at that place which had occupied his thoughts so much during the past months. Ardroy seemed intent on presenting to its nominal owner the most pleasant aspect possible: everything green and lush, and the sun shining overhead. But Keith's eyes sought only for Ardroy's laird, and as he dismounted he saw him up on the stable roof, repairing it with the help of young Angus MacMartin. 

Keith stood there watching him work for a short while, smiling foolishly, until Lively seemed to decide that enough was enough, and gave a low whinny. 

Ewen turned, gaped, and then called out, 'Keith!' 

He was down the ladder so quickly that Keith feared he would slip, and then they were clasping hands hard, for of course they could not embrace. 

Ewen was in his shirtsleeves, with straw stuck in his unruly auburn hair and his shirt shoved into a pair of breeches that had seen better days. His calves and feet were bare and suntanned; no doubt he would have been in a kilt if only he could. In Keith's eyes he looked like some tall young god from the youth of the world, and he wished for nothing better than to shove him up against the wall of the stable, kiss him silly, and slip his hand into those disreputable breeches. 

It was remarkable how Keith's memory, no matter how much he had imagined him and spoken with him in his mind, had still not retained his full reality. Keith had supposed he might be creating some idealised image of Ewen in his mind, but the truth was that the image had been but a pale copy of this solid, suntanned, dirt-smudged and utterly beautiful man who was now grinning at him so happily. 

He was struck, too, by the contrast with the Ewen Cameron he had met when he was first brought to Ardroy, so carefully chivalrous and honourable towards his captive. Those qualities he still had, but Keith had long seen another side of him: Ewen as his family and close friends, and his lover, knew him. 

Keith tore his eyes from Ewen to see Angus timidly approaching, with his eyes not on either of them, but on Lively. 

'Yes, you may take her to the stable,' said Keith in his makeshift Gaelic. 'I'm sure you will take good care of her.' 

Angus gave him a startled glance, then assured him that he would, taking the reins. 

'And tomorrow,' added Ewen in the same language, 'you must show Keith what you have learnt of the pipes.' 

With briefly narrowed eyes, he warned Keith that he must not show his true feelings at this prospect, but rather encourage the boy in following in his father's and grandfather's footsteps. 

'I shall be glad to hear it,' said Keith dutifully to Angus, who disappeared into the stable with Lively in tow, leaving them alone. 

'How long can you stay?' asked Ewen, now in English again. 

'Only a night, alas, but I thought you had rather a short visit than none,' replied Keith. 

'That,' murmured Ewen, 'is an understatement.' 

'And it seems that I may spend some part of the winter here with you, for the surveyors will be working indoors in Edinburgh then, and I won't be needed.'

'That is happy news indeed! I'd rather have you here in the summer when there is more work to be done together, but of course we cannot choose.' 

'I have something for you, by the way,' said Keith. 'Or perhaps I have two things, for you might not have heard the news?' 

'No, what news?' asked Ewen. 

'An Act of Indemnity was passed in June. All those involved in the Rising, save those under attainder, are now free of suspicion.' 

Ewen gave a great whoop of joy, then calmed himself. 'Not Lochiel, of course, nor Archie. But for those others who are in France and may now come back—oh, that's good news, indeed!' 

'And perhaps, we might transfer Ardroy back?' 

'Do you think so?' Ewen frowned briefly. 'I was already sentenced to lose the estate; I don't know if that would be affected by an Act of Indemnity. But however, we shall ask the Cameron lawyer in Edinburgh and I'm sure he will know.' 

'And now I'll show you the other thing I brought you.' Keith beckoned Ewen into the stable, where Angus had put Keith's saddlebags in a heap by the door and was now rubbing down Lively with great care. 

'I'm afraid it cannot be a gift, only a loan,' said Keith apologetically as he brought forth the Highland broadsword with its finely-wrought basket-hilt. 'But I thought you might like to spar with me?' 

'Oh,' Ewen breathed, as he took the sword from Keith. 'I lost mine at Culloden, though even if I hadn't…' 

He went out into the sun and drew the sword. 'This is very fine,' he murmured, holding it consideringly at different angles. 

'Consider it yours, as far as I am concerned, though I suppose we dare not leave it here.' 

'Thank you, Keith.' Then, with a sudden smile, 'And yes, I would like to spar with you—to be sure I would have more of a challenge than the first time we met!' 

Keith stripped off his uniform coat and waistcoat, while Ewen laid down the sword and re-plaited his hair, which was hanging partly in his eyes. Keith, watching his hands as he did it, could not help thinking of what those hands and fingers could do to him. Ewen, turning, caught the look on his face, and Keith flushed. Ewen gave him a heated look, murmuring, 'Later.' 

Keith almost feared that he would be too distracted by that promise, but as they brought the blades together in a first gentle, formal kiss, his mind cleared wonderfully. They began their bout slowly, conventionally, getting a feel for each other's technique; and of course, neither of them had sparred at all for some time. Ewen's blade was heavier, but as Keith remembered, he handled it remarkably lightly—of course, Keith knew by now how strong he was. And then, with a competitive glint in Ewen's eye, they speeded up. 

Angus MacMartin, hearing the clash of blades, left Lively in her stall and stood by the door, mouth open, watching his laird match himself against his redcoat friend. Nor was he the only one to hear it—Margaret Cameron, alarmed, hurried round the house from the garden, only to halt in relieved surprise at the sight which met her. 

She might almost have thought they were dancing, so synchronised were they, and the keen joy on Ewen's face struck her to the heart. Ever since her nephew's declaration that he intended to live in sin with Captain Windham, Margaret Cameron had struggled with it, had prayed for him. Now as she watched them, she thought of her own youth and the lover she had lost at Sheriffmuir, and how she had not let him go without first taking with both hands what she, as well as he, had wanted, though she had known it for a sin. She had had no child from that brief, bright union, and had never known whether she was sorry for that, or not. But she did have Ewen, and she could have loved him no more if he had been a child of her own body. 

Not knowing whether it were for him, or for herself, she found her sight of Ewen's happiness blurring, and blinked away a few tears. 

One of the blades went flying and landed with a dull thump on the turf, and Ewen, with consummate control, checked the stroke that had disarmed his opponent. Captain Windham, unbalanced, landed on his backside in the grass. He was laughing. 

Ewen set down his broadsword. He reached out with his right hand, the one that bore the scars of his former enemy's own sword, to pull him up, and Captain Windham took it, in perfect good faith.

**Author's Note:**

> A few lines are stolen from the book, and from the sequel _The Gleam in the North_. 
> 
> I've now read thousands of pages of books about this historical period (my research is basically dripping out my ears by now). Do tell me if you discover errors, though! And ask if you're wondering about something. A small deliberate change: Cumberland left for England on the 18th of July 1746, so he couldn't have been there for Keith's court-martial, but I couldn't resist. (Let's be real though, who among my readers actually cares about Cumberland's whereabouts at any given time?)
> 
> The prison ships: that definitely happened—one ship full of Jacobite prisoners was anchored outside of London for eight and a half months, after which two thirds of the prisoners had died. The ones who survived (most of them were later transported into slavery) did so because of the kindness of visitors and local people. 
> 
> The signing over of estates: entirely historical, this happened all the time among Jacobites in the Highlands. 
> 
> Sir Peter Halkett actually existed, and said exactly that. 
> 
> The quote where the title comes from ('...the importance of that good faith, to which an enemy as well as a friend is entitled, and without which war becomes butchery; and its seat only the larger charnel-house of death.') and which is also quoted in the story, is actually from the _Old England Journal_ , as I say in the story, but ironically it was published in the beginning of August 1745, just before the war began…not in 1746, where I put it in the story. 
> 
> At the end, Keith is sent on the Roy Military Survey of Scotland (you can see the resulting maps [here](https://maps.nls.uk/roy/index.html)).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] That Good Faith, To Which an Enemy as Well as a Friend Is Entitled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25306600) by [Luzula (Luzula_podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzula_podfic/pseuds/Luzula)




End file.
